Fiend, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the Green Sun
by logiccosmic
Summary: [Exalted/Worm] Taylor Hebert failed, in her moment to become something more. But with her failure, she was Chosen. Written with assistance from GLH.
1. 1: Second Breath

Disclaimer: Exalted is White Wolf's, Worm is Wildbow's (Don't forget to vote.) I'm just playing with their toys.

Second Breath 1.1

_A cabinet sat in a dusty room. Its pale green surface was illuminated only by a window, the light filtered through ages of grime. Gentle whorls marred the otherwise perfect surface of the cabinet, combining to form a graceful handle and lock._

_In it, surrounded by stale air, shelves of tiny pots – of gold, silver, and glimmering steel – sat in neat rows. Each one labeled, and placed exactly with its cousins. Some were plain, others so intricate to seem impossibly fragility, but all were in perfect condition, with nary a scratch._

_A faint rattle broke the stillness of the room. Another, and than another, until it became a constant buzzing. A golden pot, streaked with lines of bronze and black, shook in its place, vibrating so fast as to be a blur. Tiny cracks spider webbed out from the lid, and a faint green and purple glow emanated from them._

_The crack of a thunderous detonation shook the room, rattling the window and pots, and blasting a wave of dust away from the cabinet. In it, a ball of shadow, purest black, covered the offending pot. As the dust settled, so too did the ball fade away, leaving a broken pot, with nothing in it._

* * *

I screamed. Begged, even. Cried, sobbed, and wailed. Or, at least when I could. My elbows were already bruised and bloody from beating at the door. I could feel vomit, and other things best unspoken of. I had been surprised by them before but this, this was just too much.

Upon returning from Winter Break, my detente with my tormentors had been called off without my knowledge. Or, it was never really real, if the volume in my locker was any indicator. My bullies – Sophie, Madison, and _Emma_, had been waiting for me. As I opened my locker, I received a full inhalation of its contents; used pads and tampons, fermented. I retched, and nearly vomited. Until I was shoved into my locker, and did vomit. And the door was shut behind me. I could hear the lock click, even over my messy evacuation of my stomach, and followed, of course, by what could only be laughter.

I wasn't laughing.

My cries for help broke down to whimpers, as I knew no one was coming. Class had started, and no one was patrolling the halls right after a vacation. It was getting harder to breathe, and when I did, it was followed by dry heaves. My stomach had long ago reached empty. I was trapped here, and I could feel the metal walls closing in, with their sticky cargo. I tried to think of anywhere else, to be somewhere else, anything to help.

Nothing. Just the merciful grasp of unconsciousness.

* * *

An instant later, I scrambled off the bed, scraping at my body to get everything off.

"Miss Hebert!" Ms. Fletcher, the school nurse, stunned me out of my panic. "You are all right. Calm, deep breaths, now."

She made gentle gestures for me to fall back onto the bed. My heart beating a thousand times a minute, and sucking in the amazing disinfectant-tinged air, I did. My arms moved almost on their own accord, to spread out, and prop me up facing her. The ability to move did more than her words to calm me down.

"Good, nice and easy now. Deep breaths." She exaggerated her breathing, matching it with mine. For several minutes, the only sound was our breathing and faint rumble of the heater. "Are you feeling okay?"

I gave a shaky nod. "Very good. Now, can you tell me what happened?"

She reached for a clipboard behind, and turned expectant eyes on me. I took several more deep breaths, and exhaled with purpose.

"I was pushed in there."

Her eyebrows rose, even as she wrote. "Pushed? By who?"

I wanted to scream that of course I was pushed. But, this was my chance. They had crossed too many lines with this, this crime, and finally it would be over. I slowed my breathing from its again increased rate, and sat up.

"Sophia Hess, Madison Clements, and Emma Barnes."

Nodding as she transcribed my words, she stood. "A moment, please."

She crossed the room, and opened the door to reveal the principal. I could only see her hair, but the blond bowl-cut could only be her. They spoke a few quiet words, and Ms. Fletcher handed her the clipboard. She turned back to me, and gave me a smile. The principal, however, barely looked at me, and closed the door. My stomach clenched. No sympathy or kind words. My hands tightened around my arms, even as I realized I had been rubbing my them. I stopped myself, and looked to Ms. Fletcher.

"Could you call my father? He should be working today-"

"Already done. Not five minutes ago, the Union said they had reached him, and he was on his way. Something about a meeting with an aide."

At least my Dad would be here for me. I closed my eyes to gather my thoughts, until interrupted.

"Ms. Hebert? I think you may want this."

I opened my eyes to see Ms. Fletcher offering me a small, plastic cup of water. I nearly snatched it out of her hands, and drained it. It tasted faintly of blood and vomit and -

She offered me another, and gave me a sympathetic look. "I thought you might want to rinse out your mouth first..." She trailed off, and her face became a bit more contrite. "I couldn't clean out your mouth."

Embarrassed, but touched, I took the second cup and handed her the first. I drank this one far slower, merely sipping. The office went quiet as I finished my water, and as I looked up, I saw her carrying a tub of sponges, faintly stained red, and my clothes, also stained. Shocked, I looked down, and found I was wearing a blouse two sizes too large, trousers one size too large, and socks that barely reached above my ankle.

Noticing my surprise, Ms. Fletcher said, "You couldn't wear those, so I put you in some clothes we keep on hand in case of lice or accidents. Mostly for Chemistry accidents."

"Thank you." I said, quietly. She gave me a friendly nod, and went back to work. I brought my feet up onto the bed, and wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees. I focused my eyes on the wall, and thought.

I had thought it was over. The bullying had simmered down in November, with no incidents at all in December. I had become hopeful that it was completely over. Maybe Emma would even apologize. Evidently not. I wiped the beginning of tears from my eyes.

The door opened again, and the principal walked in, along with Sophia, Emma, and Madison. Behind Sophia, a taller man, in his late twenties stood, with his hand on her shoulder. He was the only one of the four giving me a sympathetic look.

"Ms. Hebert." The principal began, "These three have something they want to say to you."

What?

"I'm sorry, Taylor." Madison said, with the other two repeating after her. Emma and Madison gave me exaggerated looks of pity. Sophia gave me something mixed between pity and a sneer.

"Thank you girls." The principal made a shooing motion towards the door. All three girls turned and began moving towards the door, with her following. Sophia's (stepfather?) stayed and opened his mouth.

I beat him to it. "That's it?"

The principal turned back from then now open door. "Ms. Hebert?"

"They assaulted me, shoved me into a locker with used tampons, and that's it!?"

I finally got a response from her; a false face of pity and real exasperation. "Ms. Hebert, it is your word against theirs, and your homeroom class, who were in the same hall as you, all say that nothing of the sort happened."

I was speechless, but only momentarily. "I sure didn't put myself in there."

"And when the custodian removed you, you were facing in. You might not have gotten a good look at who did this, and we -"

"Good look? I got a good look when they dragged and forced me in!"

"Ms. Hebert, please. We are trying to solve this altercation- "

I interrupted again, "And this isn't even the first time! They have been threatening me, stealing from me, harassing me, abusing me."

The principal frowned, and gave a quick look at the girls, "When has this been happening?"

"Ever since last September."

"And why have you not come forward with this?"

Because you wouldn't take my word. You would take Madison's over mine. You would take Emma's, my friend, and Sophia's, who is glaring a hole in me, over mine. I wanted to say it, but didn't. The principal waited, then sighed. "Ms. Hebert, this is the first we have heard of this. These are serious allegations. However, at this time, I will not assign punishments without due cause."

I could feel tears in the corner of my eyes, and let out a bitter laugh. "Due cause."

"Ms. Hebert -"

"So nothing is going to happen then?"

"A proper investigation will be conducted."

"And actions like this will not be tolerated." The first words from Sophia's guardian, and in my support. He was giving her a look I couldn't see, but I could see her sullenly glare at him.

I wiped away my tears, and stood. "So nothing. No justice. Nothing."

The principal frowned, and said, "I will not hand out punishments for some form of eye-for-an-eye."

I brushed past her, and the four of them. "Ms. Hebert, where are you going?"

The nurse's and principal's question overlapped, but I ignored them. I could feel fresh tears replacing the ones I wiped away.

Mrs. Knott was in the hallway, shepherding my homeroom class out from an unused classroom. "Taylor, are you alright?"

I ignored her and walked faster to the end of the hall, and the exit. But I couldn't ignore all of my classmates. Most didn't even look. I saw few give me pity or sympathy. I saw Madison's friends give me smirks, knowing they had gotten her off clean. I broke into a run.

"Taylor! Please come back!"

I could hear Mrs. Knott calling for me, but I just ran harder. I slammed into the push bar for the door to the front lot, and kept running. Tears streaming.

* * *

I stopped, out of breath and sobbing. I had run all the way to the edge of the Docks, and was now sitting against the side of an abandoned building, hidden by the shade and crumbling brick.

My Dad was going to show up to school, and hear everything that had happened to me. My accusation, this incident, and their stories. I hadn't wanted him to know what had been done to me, with as much on his plate already. And I was going to have to explain it all to him. The emails, Mom's recorder being stolen, the locker, and more.

And it would get worse. Much worse, now that Madison and Emma wouldn't be punished. And Sophia's guardian wouldn't be there to enforce his order. My fear that if I reported them that they could spin it was turning out to be horrifically true. And now, they would have free reign.

And there was nothing I could do to stop them.

"Betrayed."

I started, as a voice shouted above me, then shrieked, and scooted backwards. Not two feet above me, a spider over half my size was clinging to the wall, staring at me with a plethora of eyes. And it _talked_.

"Weak. You struggled, and failed. Doomed to be chattel before the stronger, the victors." As it spoke in a sibilant whisper, it jumped behind me. I flipped around, and put my back to the wall, breathing hard.

"Oppressed, denied, and feeble. Forever weak..." It trailed off, and slowly walked first onto my feet, then knees, until it was resting its forelegs on my knees, staring into my face, as I shook and tried to press myself deeper into the brick. It looked like a jet black statue come to life, and had fangs the size of my hands not six inches from my face. Intelligent eyes bored into mine, as it seemed to stare through me.

It spoke so quietly that I could barely hear it, "But I too share in those failings. Your fears, your pain. I serve those who were betrayed, who were cast down, as were you. Who have been unjustly usurped by those who were to serve them. And they see your potential, your greatness. That was denied from you!"

"Who?" I stammered out.

"The Titans, who built Creation and all within it. They offer you service without slavery, power beyond mortal knowledge. You have been chosen too be their agent, their princess, their harbinger in all things. Decide now, for it has been too long, too far for me to hold this. The power you could have is killing me as we speak. Will you accept you right? Will you accept your charge to restore Creation to its rightful order?"

Did I want powers?

They wouldn't even be a blip on my screen anymore. I could help my dad. I could be a hero. I could do so much _more_ as a cape. My answer was easy.

I stated clearly, "Yes!"

Without pause, the spider exploded into a cloud of shadows, and enveloped me, with nothing I could do but scream.

* * *

Second Breath 1.2

My prison shattered, pieces falling in a ring around me. On my hands and knees, I shivered in the biting wind. Reflected in the black, glassy surface of my cocoon, a pillar of pure black, chased with greens and bronze punctured the sky. It blotted out the stars and moon, and gave an eerie glow to everything within sight. Around me, a sea of shadows writhed and frolicked, as bronze shapes darted to and fro in my peripheral vision.

I was also naked.

More importantly, I was naked, in the Docks, at night, with a come hither light show playing above my head that put New York City to shame. And, I had powers. Hopefully. Standing, I used my arms to preserve what modesty I had left. Or, I tried to, as I missed. My arms were longer. Fascinated, I stare at my hands, now subtly longer, and more, spidery.

I stopped myself, and made the connection that my impromptu debutante announcement might attract other attention, specifically of the cape variety. I took a hesitant step onto the concrete, and winced at the feeling. Another, and another, until I was shuffling, one arm high and the other low, across the abandoned lot. A glance over my shoulder showed the pillar collapsing, with bursts of green and bronze exploding with eye-searing brightness.

Shit. I shuffled faster, reaching the alley between a pair of buildings as the glow around me subsided to a corona of green light, with my feet covered in shadows. I passed a dumpster as I heard the sharp report of someone landing on gravel. I had been found already? They must have been only a thousand feet away to get here so quickly. I slipped behind the rusted dumpster as I heard metal plates crash together. And thankfully, I had finally stopped glowing green.

Standing in front of my cocoon, kicking the plates, was a cape. Wearing a camouflaged cape, even. I looked them up and down, eyes straining in the dim light to take in everything I could, and as I stared at her I felt a strange, almost-burning sensation behind my eyes and in my tear ducts. Was I about to start crying again? Was this some strange toxic power of the cape, a tear gas effect or something?

The burning didn't hurt - in fact, it felt strangely good, and as I took her in a wave of synaesthesia washed over me. I felt more than tasted a sharp jab of smoky wind on my tongue, and opened my mouth, nearly gagging. An irrational spike of spite accompanied it, clenching my mouth back together. I screwed my eyes shut, blinking heavily, and when I opened them again, the sensation was gone. But I could feel it lurking in my mind, like - I don't even know how to explain it, like something I knew how to do as easily as blinking. Close my eyes - I can no longer see; make my eyes feel hot and sting - taste-smell-see-feel-hear power. Strange, but I knew what I was now; a Thinker, apparently.

I suppressed a grin of fierce joy, followed by shivering teeth, turned, and shuffled, low to the ground in the general direction of home. I had barely reached the corner of the building and the road when the roar of a motorcycle stopped me in my tracks. I crouched lower, and leaned against the building, wincing at the bricks abrading my skin. This cape I knew. The entire country probably knew him. He even had action figures. Armsmaster, his Halberd held like a knight's lance, roared past the entrance. I could hear a squeal of tires, and the engine moved around and behind me, finally stopping.

A male voice, raised in anger, but incomprehensible, erupted behind me. I could hear a faint female voice, and then a new male and female voice. A flash of white marred the sky, but still paled in comparison to the still shrinking pillar. I bit my lip in concentration. More capes had arrived, and I would bet that was Photon Mom, a flier, from the light. I didn't know if I could leave without exposing myself. Literally and figuratively.

I didn't want to be unmasked before I even had made my costume. I couldn't fight heroes, and any moment one could fly over the road if I tried to cross it. I would be easily visible to the naked eye with the faint green light pervading from behind me. A disguise, preferably as resident of the Docks would be my best bet. If I could reach the dumpster, I could possibly find some clothes before the heroes searched the surrounding area. I fixed the image I wanted, fervently hoping I could find a disguise, and took a deep breath to steel my nerves.

As I stood, I could feel cool arms wrapping around my body. I nearly shrieked in surprise, but they were accompanied by the same feeling that I should know what this was, that it was natural. I was cloaking myself in shadows. I stood fully upright, and looked down. I now looked like a man, taller and bulkier than I was, wearing stained and well-worn clothing. With a smile on my face, I resumed my shuffle across the road, trying to look inebriated.

I thought my heart would explode before I reach the other side, but I made it. I crossed two more lots, another road, and two lots, before I reached a street that I knew would lead home. A wave of relief eased my feet, only eclipsed by my delight in having two powers.

A muffled thud behind me nearly stopped my heart. Dreading who could be behind me, I kept moving.

"Excuse me, sir."

I resisted the urge to bolt, and turned. One of the Wards, and the only one I knew by name was behind me. Aegis, in a dark red costume, whom the only thing I knew about was that he was nearly as tough as Alexandria. My mouth went bone dry.

I grunted at him.

"Sir, have you seen anything strange this evening?" He politely asked.

Another grunt, and I pointed over his head, at the nearly exhausted pillar, for effect.

A pained look crossed his face, and he replied with a bit of exasperation, "Anything else, anyone leaving that area?"

Urging him to leave in my mind, I felt something empty within me as I lied, pointing repeatedly in the direction of the buildings to my right, and turned around to walk away.

"Thank you sir. Aegis here, sighting west of the site."

I moved far quicker, now. As fast as I could, shaking as adrenaline wore off. And from relief that he had bought that.

I only had 5 miles to go.

* * *

Tired, freezing, and with bloody feet, I finally turned onto my street. Not four houses down, I could see the lights on in my Dad's bedroom. I winced, as I had disappeared from school and was just now showing up, in the middle of the night. He had surely talked to the principal, and was probably worried sick about me.

But I was a cape. I had something no one could take away from me. I was something that Emma, that Sophia and Madison could never be. I had a silly smile on my face.

Now I just had to think of names, and a costume. My disguise definitely didn't block out the wind, so I couldn't use it as a permanent costume, or at least go naked beneath it again. But I could have a disguise on top of a disguise now.

I could call myself Mata Hari. Or Spy Lady.

I really needed to sit down in my warm home. I wasn't thinking quite straight.

I reached the backdoor, and paused. If it was locked, I would have to knock, and drop my disguise, and be naked on my back porch to greet my Dad. I didn't want him to know I was a cape quite yet. Or if I walked inside, disguised as a very shabby drunk, I would let him know I was a cape, or have the police called on me.

My worries turned out to be for naught, as I turned the unlocked handle. Closing and locking it behind me by habit, I dropped the shadows from my body, and rushed towards the linen closet. A fresh towel wrapped around me, I returned to the kitchen, and placed my right foot on the sink. I winced at the dirt, and the small cuts it covered. Spraying hot water on it wasn't pleasant, but I needed them clean.

"Taylor!"

I nearly dropped my towel in surprise. The sprayer fell into the sink, and sprayed right into my back until I reached back and turned it off.

"Dad, I'm sorry I was out-" My apology was cut off as my Dad rushed over and hugged me tight. I squeaked in surprise. He pulled back, but kept his hands on my shoulders, smiling with relief.

"I was so worried, Taylor! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Just my feet, Dad. I'm sorry I left school today, I just couldn't -"

He cut me off again, this time with worry twisting his face. "Taylor, it's been five days."

* * *

Second Breath 1.3

My jaw dropped, and I closed it with a neat click. _Five_ days? I had been gone for five whole days?

"Taylor," He paused, "Why are you naked?"

I worked my mouth, and turned back to the sink, placing my left foot in the sink. I need to clean my feet, and to think. I didn't want him to know I was a cape, but I didn't want him to worry. I couldn't begin to think what he had imagined had happened to me. I turned the sprayer on, only for him to reach over and turn it off.

"Taylor, please talk to me."

"I need to clean off my foot," I half-whispered to him, twisting my foot so he could see it.

He switched the sink back on, and picked up the sprayer, angling it so he washed my foot. "Taylor, where have you been?"

"Dad, can you just – well, stop asking for a second?"

He nodded his acquiescence, and we washed my foot in silence, him spraying, and me picking out the few rocks, pieces of asphalt, and glass out. He turned the sink off, and went behind me. I removed my foot, and rested my arms on the sink. Behind me, I heard him open up the linen closet.

What could I say? That I had made a deal with a giant black spider, woken up in a cocoon, and then celebrated New Year's late? That I had a dozen heroes, or more now, in all likelihood, searching over where I changed? And that they didn't seem to be looking for me in a friendly matter?

"Taylor," I turned, and saw that my dad had placed a towel at the feet of my chair at the table.

With a quick, "Thank you," I sat at the table, as my dad busied himself at the stove, fixing a pot of tea.

"I talked to the school on Tuesday. They told me what happened." He turned back towards me as the water heated, moving slowly, and sat down, eyes apprehensive as he looked at me.

"That I ran away?"

"That you were assaulted by some students, and shoved in a locker full of.." He trailed off, not wanting to say what it had contained.

Or maybe he noticed my face twisting into a rictus of hate. A burning, almost soothing ball of the same fire from earlier seemed to ignite in my stomach at his reminder. I took a breath, and forced myself to relax.

"That they locked me in with used, fermented tampons?"

"Yes." He paused, and looked down at his hands on the table. "Taylor, I thought that you were having problems at school, but I didn't think that it was this bad."

"It wasn't," I said, clipped. "They stopped in November."

He frowned, "So this was a different group, or?"

"No. The same ones. Madison, Sophia, and Emma."

His head snapped up. "Emma, as in -"

"Yes, my _friend_." I nearly snarled the last word, and had to force my hands to stop gripping the table.

"And she was one of the ones -"

"Yes," I cut him off again. He seemed stunned.

The phone rang, breaking the momentary silence. My dad stood up, and crossed to the phone, behind me. At my inquisitorial look, he said, "The police."

"What!?"

He stopped at my yelp, the phone still ringing, and walked back into my view. "Taylor, you disappeared. No one saw you after you left school, and I worried that – that, something bad had happened to you."

He started to the phone again.

"But you don't need to say you found me right away?" My panic stopped him in his tracks, and he returned to his seat. The phone stopped ringing, and I watched him collapse into his seat. On second glance, he was exhausted. He hadn't shaved in days, and had dark bags under his eyes. A stab of guilt pierced my panic, but only intensified it. Scrutiny wouldn't help either of us.

I spoke slowly, "Dad, I don't want to talk to the police right now. I don't want to be shoved in a room and question right after I finally got home."

He let out a breath, and gave me a shaky smile as the phone rang again. "Ok. I'm just happy to have you back. I won't say anything yet."

My own smile answered him. He answered the phone, "Danny Hebert."

"Nothing yet?" The faint sounds of a response.

"But where are they going instead?"

"How long?"

"Okay, okay."

"Please, call me with anything you find out."

He hung up, and moved to the stove, pouring the just boiling water in to a pot. He brought over the pot and my favorite mug, the Woodstock one.

I sipped, and burned my mouth in my haste. I hadn't realized how parched I was. Dad rose from his chair, but I waved him down with the mug. Blowing on the mug, I gathered my thoughts.

"After I left school, I wasn't in the best mood – or place. Did the principal tell you about everything?"

"She said that you were in the locker, had been stuck inside until the janitor let you out, and after you gave your statement, you ran out of the school."

I nearly snorted my tea. "She forgot a part. The part where she said that she couldn't do anything, and brought in all three of them to say, 'I'm sorry.'"

"Taylor, she said that she couldn't do anything without investigation. All three of them have been suspended for the past week, and have to go to counseling."

"She said nothing of the sort! She said she wanted to solve it. And I bet they were only suspended because I was -" I cut off my rant, and an uncomfortable silence fell.

"Taylor, what happened."

"Dad, please. I don't want to -"

He cut me off, "Taylor, do you need a hospital? Are you... injured?"

I caught his meaning. "No! No, no, nothing like that. I just don't want to talk about right now, please. I want to shower and sleep. Please."

He looked like he wanted to argue.

"Dad, I promise I will be here in the morning," I joked with a crooked smile.

He returned it, and walked over to me. He gave me a tight hug, and left the kitchen. I sat back down, and picked up my tea.

"Taylor?" He said, poking his head into the kitchen.

"Yes?"

"Good night, and thank you for coming home."

"Good night, Dad."

I could hear him move upstairs, and his bedroom door closing. I finished my tea in silence.

* * *

My shower was strange. Not strange as in blood coming from the showerhead, but strange in that my limbs still weren't in their proper place. Or, were too long. Each of my arms and legs seemed to have gained an inch, at least, overall. My hands looked even more spidery, looking oddly thin.

Stepping out, luxuriating in washing off the grim I had accumulated, I looked in the mirror. And was stunned. I looked _different._ My skin seemed healthier. Little scars and imperfections I knew had been there before were gone. And, I had more on my chest. Turning, I saw the mole on my lower back was gone.

It looked like I had just gotten an airbrushing in a magazine.

I ran my hands over, feeling if it was another disguise like earlier.

No, all flesh.

Wrapping a towel around my middle, I left the bathroom thinking hard. More powers? Was I a shapeshifter in addition to making shadows disguise me and sensing powers? Sitting on my bed, I focused, practically popping a vein, trying to shift myself to turn my hair red.

Nothing.

I focused, like I remembered from the alley way. I pulled at the shadows, and twisted. I felt the cool shadows from around the bed pool at my feet, and covered myself. But this time I felt an almost prickling of my skin as well, instead of an emptying in my stomach. As they fell away, my hair was red.

And a void black disk sat on my forehead, and a green corona surrounded my head, as bright as any light.

* * *

Second Breath 1.4

The glow pulsed, and lent the room an eerie vibe. Behind me -

I turned around, heart racing. I thought I had seen a long, bronze spider leg reaching over my shoulder. But all that was behind me was the glow.

So, I could only use my power tw times before I started glowing like when I awoke? Not ideal, at all. I released my disguise, and was disappointed to see no change; my mark was still there, and no decrease in brightness. And no idea on how long it took to reset. Or if it ever would die down.

So two uses of disguise? I could use that, at least to sneak places. Once to get in, and one to get out. And I could scout before hand with my sensing powers. All it had taken was worrying my dad half to death, five days of my life in which I was in a cocoon, and a deal with a giant spider.

That soured my mood, immediately. Who were the Titans? I could only recall the Greeks had Titans, but I knew nothing about them. And had it been a cape or a cape's minion, just weird? And what service did they require? It had made that part very clear. Restore the rightful order?

With a sigh, I figured I couldn't do anything without information, and I had none at the moment and no way to get it. I'd work on it in the morning. Opening my dresser, I got out a set of pajamas. Nice to not be naked, I thought.

Except my bottoms barely reached above my ankle, and my shirt was a bit tight. Right, changes.

I crawled into bed, with my personal night light still going, and fell asleep.

* * *

I awoke, groggy, to the sound of someone opening my door.

"Dad?"

The door closed, and I went back to sleep.

* * *

I stretched to the sound of the radio in the shower; my dad was in there every week day before 6:30, radio on, without fail. It was a relaxing sound; at least some things were still normal. And I didn't have a mark nor glow.

I pulled a pair of jeans out and switched out bottoms. And, I had forgotten, again, the height difference. Crouching and rummaging through my closet revealed an older pair of jeans, that was I certain had been my mom's. On top of them was an Alexandria t-shirt. Sad and nostalgic, I rocked by on my heels and sat down. When I was a 9, she had bought an Alexandria t-shirt just like mine to show solidarity with me. She had been infinitely patient, buying me a lunch box and find pictures of Alexandria online.

What would she say, knowing I was a cape?

That I had made a deal with a _something_ to become one?

Sobered, I put on her old clothes and maneuvered to the kitchen. My dad walked in at the same time, still in his bathrobe. He looked uncommonly pleased to see me. Guilty, I hung my head. I hadn't meant to worry him.

His arms wrapped around me. I whispered, "I'm sorry."

He hugged me tighter, and went to the stove. As he rummaged in the refrigerator, I sat back down, examining my new hands in the daylight. The smell of sausage cooking reminded me that it had been nearly a week since I last ate.

His back still turned to me, he asked, "Hungry?"

"Very."

The kitchen was silent but for the sizzling of the pan, and the scrape of the pan. French toast was added, and he paused in his spatula-ing.

"Taylor, we are going to have to go to the police. They are still looking for you."

And me showing up naked right after my announcement would effectively unmask me. I walked to the fridge, and poured us each a glass of OJ.

"Taylor?"

"We do. But, Dad, could we not say I showed up last night?"

"Because I told them you hadn't shown up."

"Yes," And for other reasons.

He nodded, and brought over a plate. I stopped talking, and inhaled my food. I looked up to see him looking bemused at the speed.

"Sorry. Been awhile."

A quick grimace flashed across his face. Guilty at reminding him, I changed topics.

"So right after this, police?"

Finishing his mouthful, he nodded, than elaborated, "I'll get dressed, and then call them."

I drained my OJ, and took my plate to the sink, and made to return to my room.

"Taylor, wait."

I stopped in the doorway, looking back at him, "Dad?"

"How are your feet?"

I pulled my left leg up so both of us could see.

It was pristine.

Quickly, I said, "So about 15 minutes?"

He nodded, looking a bit stunned.

* * *

Socks and shoes on, I plopped onto the couch. I would have to get new shoes, they were now uncomfortably tight. I squirmed slightly with guilt. New clothes weren't cheap, and I hadn't been the slowest of growers; at 15, I was already 5'8", making pants more of a quick fix than a long term solution. Now, I was probably closer to 5'10", nearly as tall as my dad.

I grabbed the remote to distract myself. The TV flicked on, and it was already set to the local news.

"- And still no word from the PRT, Megan?"

"That's right, John. Here at the scene, we have received no information either from last night's event. As you can see behind me, the area is still cordoned off, and the PRT and Protectorate are out in force."

The view had switched from the news desk, to a blond woman standing in front of Police tape, with several PRT officers loitering close by. Behind her, large white coverings were on all the visible buildings, and a line of vans could be seen. The faint _whop-whop-whop _of a helicopter could be heard.

Shit.

"Megan, who all has been at the scene?"

"Well John, early this morning, we saw Armsmaster, Shadowstalker, and Aegis leaving the scene," at this point low-res footage playing of the said capes driving, jumping, and flying played, only to be replaced by almost a dozen capes, over multiple clips, "And they were replaced by Clockblocker, Kid Win, and Vista from the Wards, Brandish, Manpower, and Glory Girl from New Wave, and Dauntless, Velocity, and Miss Milita from the Protectorate."

"That's some serious Manpower, if you pardon the pun, Megan."

"Quite right. They are really pulling out all the stops."

"Thank you Megan, and now, on the street, we have Stephen. Stephen?"

"Taylor?" For a single horrible moment, I thought they had I. me. But it was only my dad. I turned the TV off, and grabbed my jacket.

"Just the news. Calling them now?"

He nodded, and went back to the kitchen, dragging a chair to the phone, punching in numbers with the ease of familiarity.

I sat down in my chair, resting my head in my hands.

"Lt. Knight, please."

My dad started absentmindedly curling the cord in his hands.

"Lieutenant – No sir, I don't need the update. She showed up!" Real joy lit up my dad's voice. He paused, the faint sound of another voice on the other end.

"No, she showed up this morning."

"Well, she showed up with blood on her feet, and she was naked -"

"We will wait right here."

"Thank you sir, for all you did. Goodbye."

With a heavy sigh, he turned to me. "They are sending a squad car and an ambulance, and are going to take you to the hospital."

I nodded my acknowledgment, oddly spent yet brimming with energy. We waited in silence for but a few minutes, before the faint wail of sirens pierced, and grew louder. At the sharp pounding on the front door moments later, my dad went to the door. A pair of paramedics, rolling a stretcher, and two police officers entered the kitchen.

The older paramedic spoke, "Ma'am? Are you able to get onto the stretcher?"

"Yes." I kept my reply short, and moved to the stretcher. They removed the bag on top, and let me lay down before strapping me in. With quick movements, we left the house, and I was loaded in the back of the ambulance. My dad, locking the door behind him, got into the squad car as the doors closed.

"Ma'am?" the older paramedic asked, holding a clipboard, as the younger began attaching machines to me.

"Yes?"

"First, can you tell me your full name?"

"Taylor Hebert." A mark on the clipboard.

"Where are we?"

"Brockton Bay." Another mark.

"What time and date is it?"

"About 7 AM, on the 10th?" Another.

"Thank you. Now, are you feeling any pain or do you have any injuries?"

"No."

The younger one stated, "Rate of 55, Pressure at 115 over 75, Temp at 98."

The older made quick marks, before asking me, "Are you feeling a bit hot, Taylor?"

"A bit," I agreed.

"Have you been around anyone sick recently, eaten any bad food, or anything else significant you can think of?"

"Nothing."

"Well, okay then. You just relax, and we will take care of you, okay?"

I nodded, and leaned back, shutting my eyes. Resting as well as I could over the ambulance's wailing.

* * *

In what could only be less than five minutes, the ambulance pulled to a stop. The paramedics removed my stretcher from and briskly moved me through the entrance of St. Anderson's Hospital, into an elevator, held waiting by a uniformed police officer. The ride up was quiet, and as the door opened, another uniformed officer joined his comrade, and walked in front of the stretcher as we moved down the hall, followed by our earlier policeman.

We moved to a room, with two more uniformed policemen on either side of the door. As we wheeled inside, a man and a woman, both in suits, stood from their chairs by the door.

As the paramedics lifted me from the stretcher into the bed, and hooked me into new machines, the man stepped forward. "Ms. Hebert, I'm Detective Lee, and this is my partner, Detective Manheim. Are you feeling up to answering some questions?"

I nodded, as the paramedic attached a final doodad to my left index finger, and left.

"Do you wish for your father to be here?"

"No."

"Taylor, here is what we know. There was an altercation at your school, and approximately 1200 you left, and have not been seen until today. Can you please explain what happened?"

I spoke slowly, choosing my words carefully, "After the, uh, _altercation_, I went to the Boardwalk. I remember getting there, but after that, nothing."

"And this morning?"

"I woke up, behind a dumpster, and walked home."

"And nothing in between?"

"Nothing."

"Where did you wake up?"

"I'm not sure, it's a bit fuzzy. I think, west of my house. Way away from the Boardwalk."

His partner, writing down everything, looked up quickly at that, and then returned to her notebook.

"About what time, would you say?"

"I'm not sure, maybe, 3 am?"

"And what makes you say that?"

"Because right after I got home, I washed up, my dad fed me and called you."

"Your father said something about bloody feet?"

"When I walked, they got cut up, and they bled a bit."

"And, you are absolutely certain you can remember nothing at all?"

"No sir."

His partner flipped her notebook closed as he turned towards her. "Okay. Taylor, would you be up to answering a few more question? We are worried that a villian might be involved."

I nodded, and said, "Of course."

"Thank you Taylor. Officers O'Conner and Quinn will be right outside if you need anything. Thank you for you cooperation."

I nodded again, and they left. Moments later, a nurse and my father entered, speaking to each other.

"And she's in perfect health at the moment, so far as we can tell."

"So far as you can tell?"

"Well, we haven't run any tests, and a purely physical examination is somewhat limited. But you said that she hasn't complained of anything?"

"Nothing, miss. She had no bruises or anything that I could see, aside from blood and some cuts on her feet. But they were gone this morning."

"Well, we are going to draw blood, and we will look at her feet."

With that, the nurse split off, and my dad walked to my bed, nodding to the officers on the way in.

"Are you all right, Taylor?"

"Fine, dad. Just ready to go."

He gave me a quick smile, and squeezed my shoulder.

"Ms. Hebert?"

One of the officers had stuck his head in the doorway.

"Officer O'Conner?" I ventured.

"Quinn, ma'am," he replied, flashing a grin, "Are you up to answering more questions?"

"Ready," I confirmed.

"Here they come, then," he said as he waved to someone out of my sight.

Armsmaster, the leader of the Protectorate here in the Bay, walked in. Tall, covered in dark blue armor, and with his signature Halberd, he was undoubtedly a superhero. Following at his heels, a slightly shorter woman in the camouflaged cape I had seen last night followed, dressed in black with a hood. Shadow Stalker, I thought the news had called her.

"Ms. Hebert?" Even his voice was heroic.

"Yes," I paused, then ventured a guess, "Mr. Armsmaster?"

He gave a gentle chuckle, and shook his head. "Just Armsmaster is fine. I wanted to make sure you were alright. You gave quite a few people quite a scare. Including your father there."

I looked down, clenching the edge of the bed. Shame and anger warred within me. Shame, that I had hurt my dad, and probably pulled people off more important things. Anger, that none of this wouldn't have happened if I had been stuffed in a damn locker.

Sounding chastised, I replied, "I know."

"As long as you are safe, we are all happy. Now, Detective Lee said you were having problems remembering what happened to you?"

I nodded, and elaborated, "All I remember is getting to the Boardwalk, and then waking up behind a dumpster."

"Nothing in between those two times?"

I shook my head.

"Well, I hope you feel better. We might be back to talk to you later. Is that okay?" He half-asked me, and half-asked my dad.

As I nodded, my dad replied, "Yes."

As they turned to leave, I experimented. I might not have an opportunity like this again, so I made my eyes burn. I resisted the urge the tear up as my ducts protested, and I learned.

Looking at Armsmaster first, a million tiny pinpricks erupted on my tongue, stinking of an electrical fire, dust and old books. A snarl of hate built in my throat that anyone could dare to be stronger than me. Suppressing it, surprised and breathing heavily, I turned to Shadow Stalker and let them burn again. Last time without glowing.

Shadow Stalker gave the same feeling as last night, a sharp dart of smoky wind. This time, I coughed, and my dad patted me on the back.

Behind my hand, I grinned.

* * *

Second Breath 1.5

Leaving the hospital was near-divine intervention. After being poked, prodded, and put in a giant noisy tube, and subjected to the humiliating experience of something called a "Physical Evidence Recovery Kit," as apparently ordered from above, I was released with instructions to report anything out of the ordinary happening.

Barring some obvious complications, I added to myself.

With a clean bill of health, I was rolled out in a wheelchair by Officer Quinn before noon, with my dad and his partner talking in low voices behind me. A squad car pulled up to curb, and Officer Quinn held the door open for me.

"These two fine officers will see you safely home. Stay out of trouble, and it's good to have you safe, Ms. Hebert."

My dad, in the other back seat, and I waved at them as well pulled out. Out of the lot, the officer in the passenger seat twisted back to face us with a grin and asked, "You folks want to get home fast?"

"Yes, please!" I replied. I could really use the time to figure out my pow-

"Go time."

With a squeal of tires and the wailing of an alarm, we screamed down the road, cars parting before us. My dad and I slid back and forth on the seat in back. In an easy 3 minutes, we screeched to a stop in front of our home.

The officer in passenger seat turned back around, and said, "Here you go. It's nice to see you back with us."

Moderately embarrassed, I said a quick, "Thanks," and got out of the car, my dad saying something I couldn't hear behind me. We waved to them as they pulled out at a more sedate pace than before.

"That was bracing," I commented to my dad.

"Hmm," he murmured in agreement. I turned to look at him, and I felt like kicking myself. He looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep. So, him checking in on me hadn't been a dream. He'd probably checked every few minutes.

Or maybe he saw my glow.

Fear compounded guilt, and I turned back away. How much was I actually hiding from him?

We made it inside silently, and went to the kitchen together by unspoken consensus. Dad started a pot of coffee, and I claimed my chair. Breaking the silence, I asked, "What did the doctors say?"

"Perfect health. They said they could find nothing wrong, and that there were no traces of any sort of drug or known compound that could cause memory loss."

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I asked, "And did they have any ideas what happened, then?"

He shook his head. "They asked Armsmaster for advice while he was there, and he said that he made some calls. He did say that new drugs and poisons show up all the time, and it's a losing battle trying to ID them all. And that the usual resources he would put on this case were occupied."

I knew the answer, but had to ask, "Occupied by what?"

"I didn't ask, but I figured that light last night. Did you see it, then?"

"Part of it," I admitted, technically true.

"What did the news say about it, this morning?"

"Only that nothing official had been said, and that there were a lot of heroes sitting on top of it."

He nodded, and sat across from me. He said gently, "You are going to have to go back to school."

Or I could go to Arcadia High instead. I knew that much, at least. Wards got in there, even with the huge waiting list. But, then I'd have to reveal myself to a bunch of people I didn't know, and possibly my dad. And I didn't seem to be their most popular person at the moment, if their response was anything to judge by.

So, I answered, "I know. And I'll have to see them again, and deal with being gone."

Dad's mouth flattened into a line as he remarked, "They didn't even send your school work to me."

Nice to know I hadn't been expected to make it back. "What else happened to them? Suspension and counseling?"

He nodded, and elaborated, "At least till today was what the principal said, with a month of counseling. And a black mark on their records."

Relief? Maybe that wasn't quite the right word. More, satisfaction. Finally.

"Back tomorrow then?"

His eyebrows rose, "Are you up to it?"

"Only one way to find out."

He smiled, then yawned. "I'm glad to have you back, kiddo. What's your plan for the day, then?"

"TV, I guess, to see what the fuss is about," I paused, "And could we go to the library after lunch? I'd like to do some research before I go back to school."

"All right. We'll go after lunch. Lacey dropped off some food yesterday. Half an hour sound good?"

Nodding, I made my way back to couch. I doubted dad would let me out of sight for any significant amount of time, barring school. I'd have to get used to a bit more involved dad.

I suppose I deserved it. Especially hearing that his friends had to have come by to make sure he ate.

The TV clicked back on to the local news.

"-And it's the top of the hour, and here are your updates. So far, we have received no word on last night's event. Local heroes are still at the scene, in numbers. Just in, happier news, the Brockton Bay Police Department reported that Taylor Hebert, the missing student, has been found. According to the police, she managed to make her way back home with no injuries."

"That's good to hear, Tom."

"A spot of good news today, Kathie."

I clicked it off, horror dawning. I was just on the news.

Library, now. My stomach growled.

Well, food. Then library.

* * *

The computer line was very short, and I managed to sit down in only a few minutes. Which was good, because my stack of books was rather heavy. I had a smattering of Greek mythology to start with. I needed to figure out my powers, and just as importantly, where they came from.

I hadn't spent much time on it, aside from idle browsing, but I knew Parahumans Online had a vast amount of information of capes. I searched for Titans, Spiders + Black, Creation, and anything else I could remember.

Nothing. Nothing relevant at least. Titan was an Alexandria knock-off. There was a cape who looked like a giant spider, but he wasn't jet black and he wasn't even on the same continent as I was. Creation only brought up arguments in the message boards over some cape's powers. I tapped my fingers in thought. A total bust.

Defeated but not daunted, I tried searching for the previous night's events.

_Definitely_ not a bust. The forums had practically exploded. Capes everywhere had been spotted on high alert. Rumors, from close (I had triggered) to outlandish (The Earth had triggered, and was growing genitalia). Nothing I could do though, until something official came out. I was almost as in the dark as everyone else.

Closing out and leaving the station, I looked for my dad, and found him quite easily. He was sitting not 10 yards away, not reading, but looking up at me. Guilt slowed my steps towards him. He really still didn't believe I was back?

"Ready?" He asked.

"Ready."

* * *

Sitting at the kitchen table, munching on bacon, I thought. I had read two of my checked-out books from cover to cover, and had gotten almost nothing. The only Titan that matched what I could do was Astraeus, because of the dusk associations, and that was tenuous at best. Erebus, darkness personified came relatively close as well, but he didn't have a giant green glowy head either.

I was frustrated, as so far the only knowledge I had was that I didn't know who had given me these powers, and that at least 18 hours was sufficient for me to use another power without glowing. I had cloaked myself while dad was in the shower, in to a combination of my dad and the mayor, which had been very disconcerting. I had to wear the Alexandria shirt again, as it was the only thing that fit me without showing off too many changes.

"Can you do it?" My dad asked.

"Hmm?" I mumbled through bacon.

"Go back to school. Can you go back today?"

I nodded, and swallowed. "I can."

He looked troubled, and chewed his words for a moment. "Will Emma and her friends cause you anymore problems?"

I shook my head. Even if I thought they would, I wouldn't say. I hadn't wanted to tell dad about her in the first place. It had slipped out, and now I had to live with it.

"I don't think so. And I think the school won't let it happen again."

He nodded, still looking pensive. "When did... it... start?"

I shifted, uncomfortably. "Around September."

"This September?" he said, pointedly.

"Last," I admitted.

He let out a breath. "I knew you and Emma weren't as close anymore, but this, I didn't expect this."

"Me either."

We were silent until it was time to go to school.

* * *

My dad pulled into a parking space in the school lot. I could guess fairly easily that he want to walk me in. I was carrying a pair of notebooks, as all my books and belongings had been left at school when I had fled. I'd probably have to buy new ones.

"No work today?" I asked as we got out.

He shook his head. "They told me to take care of myself and you. I go back tomorrow."

"Maybe the city will listen to you more, after all the sympathy."

He tried hard not to smile, but I could see the corners of his mouth twitch up.

"I'm not sure this was enough to get through to them."

Turning back to him as we reached to doors, I gave him a hug. He returned it with interest. "I don't think I can get you anymore, so it's up to you now."

Breaking away, and in a dead serious tone, he replied, "Well, I think I can manage. Have a good day at school. I'll pick you up at 3."

Waving over my shoulder to him, I walked inside.

Into a crowd of staring students. I moved quickly, embarrassed by the attention. I skipped my locker, not wanting to see if I had any forgotten presents. I slowed down as I saw who waited for me, blocking the way into Mrs. Knott's classroom.

Emma and Sophia.

I ignored them and tried to make my way through, but they didn't move. Resigned, I stopped, and stared at Emma.

"Taylor, we are so glad that you were are okay! We were all super worried about you." I remembered her saying comforting words in the same voice when my mother I had died. But she hadn't said them then with the smile she wore every time she tormented me.

I clenched my fists. So, it wasn't over.

"It's nice to have you back. I even got taken off the track team, so if you need anything I have plenty of free time to help you." Sophia's voice could be described as a combination of saccharine and poisoned.

They turned and walked inside, chatting low voices. A knuckle popped as I clenched my fists tighter, and tears burned behind my eyes. Tears, and a wellspring of hate. My power activated on reflex, and I knew that Emma was but a bug, with no special worth. Sophia nearly made me cough.

Stunned, I fell against the doorway.

Sophia was Shadow Stalker.

* * *

Second Breath 1.6

Dazed, I fell into a seat in the back row.

Sophia was Shadow Stalker.

Was she a new cape? I hadn't really heard of her before today; but I hadn't paid more than cursory attention to capes. Did Emma and Madison know? Was that why the principal had given her a pardon until I disappeared?

"Taylor?"

What's more, did she know who I was? She had been first on the scene last night, and had been very close to there where I had changed. Had she been tracking me?

"Taylor!"

Startled, I looked up to see Mrs. Knott giving my a concerned smile.

"Are you alright Taylor?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"Well, we're all glad to have you back, safe and sound."

I kept myself from rolling my eyes, and merely nodded. She turned back to the board, talking. I tuned her out, and stared at the back of Sophia's head. She was chatting across the aisle with Emma, ignoring Mrs. Knott as well.

What could I do? They were going to still bully me, whether Sofia was a cape or not. I couldn't blackmail her; she would just ignore it, or worse, get more violent. Already, she was the most physical of my tormentors. I didn't want to give her further cause to escalate.

"Taylor, do you have your books with you?" Mrs. Knott interrupted me, again.

"No, I haven't been able to replace them, yet."

She nodded, and directed me to share a book. I'd have to put the important things off, for now.

* * *

The last class before lunch was Computing, back with Mrs. Knott. I had a full week of assignments to catch up on; and this was only the first half of the day. At least Emma, Madison and Sophia weren't in here, though several of their hangers-on were. I had been getting mocking glances the whole morning from the trio and their flunkies, whenever the teacher wasn't looking.

Mrs. Knott had given me a test, a preliminary exam, to see where I was with computers, and told me I had the whole period to complete it, followed by free time. She then went back to the rest of the class, who had split off in assignments. My mother had made sure I was computer literate, and I finished it in half the time.

I used the remaining half to look up Shadow Stalker. Parahumans Online had basic information: She was rated as Breaker (who could break physics) 3, Shaker (could affect her environment) 2, and Mover (superhumanly fast) 1. She turned into a shadow-her, and could move and jump faster. And became intangible. So, she was essentially invincible while in that state. Worse yet, the message boards had stories and rumors of stunning brutality prior to her joining the Wards. She had been a solo hero, and rumor was that she had been arrested or charged, and dumped into the Wards as rehab.

In other words, I couldn't hurt her. Physically.

Class ended, and I picked up my notebooks. So far, none of the teachers had told me how much I'd have to pay for new books, but I knew it wouldn't be cheap.

I saw Emma and Madison, but not Sophia in the lunchline. Had she left? On a hunch, I went right out the closest door from the cafeteria, and saw her ponytail bobbing in the distance. I glanced behind me, deciding. No one was in the corridor, so I held the door open, creating a small patch of shadow between it and the door. I stuck my hand within, and pulled. Tendrils wrapped around me, and revealed a mix of Emma and Madison, strawberry blond and average height.

I walked back outside, and stalked after her. Until I nearly slapped myself for foolishness. Was I glowing? It didn't look like it, so was the time between usages without even longer? Relieved, I quickened my pace, trying to keep her in view. I could work on that later.

* * *

I followed her for nearly a mile, heading towards the Docks, until she walked into a yard full of storage units, at the edge. I waited across the street, leaning on a wall. What was I doing? Even if I saw Sophia leave as Shadow Stalker, it wasn't proof. I couldn't take it to the PRT, and say, 'Stop her from bullying me or I will release her info.'

And that wasn't even counting that the PRT had colluded to keep her out of trouble. I would bet my powers that the man with Sophia in the nurse's office hadn't been her guardian, but a member of the Protectorate. And, why she was sent to visit me in the hospital; she had to eat crow. And for all I knew, they might even counter blackmail me, or even charge me with conspiracy or something. I didn't know, and that was the problem.

Shadow Stalker left the yard, not from the front gate, but jump/floating from the middle of the yard up to the roof top of a building behind me. Confirmed on the identity.

I followed her, but she was moving fast enough that I could only see the apex of her jumps after only 7 of them. I broke into a run to where I had seen her last, and I realized I had lost her. I couldn't see her on any of the rooftops around me, and I hadn't seen her make any more jumps. She had probably gone on foot for some reason. I turned back around, hoping that I could make it back in time for my dad to pick me up; I was already on shaky ground with him, and I didn't want him to worry more.

A sharp pain exploded in my stomach, and a spray of blood erupted out, misting onto the wall in front of me. An arrowhead poked out, bloody.

Sophia's voice came from above and behind me,"You are going to tell me who you are and why you are following me, and then I might call for an ambulance."

* * *

Second Breath 1.7

I staggered, gasping in pain. Sophia had _shot me. _Surprise froze into pure, cold, rational hate -

- Sophia clicked her tongue -

- I had to flee, so I spun, twisting to nearest building to my right, throwing my notebooks with my right hand, discus like, shedding paper as they flew -

- The twang of the crossbow -

- with a scream of concentration, I forced myself to move faster. I pivoted on my right leg, twisting back towards the left, my left hand swinging behind me -

- A bolt punched threw a piece of paper with a _thwock -_

And my left hand closed around it with nary but a scrape, a pulse of green fire exploding out from me.

Grasping my catch, I sprinted towards the door on the building to the left, black streamers in my vision. I jumped as I reached it, both legs extended forward, and the door blew off its hinges with me as a passenger.

I came out in a forward roll, and ran further inside, unnaturally silent, towards a set of stairs going up and down, illuminated by a broken window. The sound of boots hitting concrete alerted me, and I went down in a slide, as a bolt impacted the concrete in front of me with a sharp _crack. _I slid all the way to the stairwell, tearing my shirt in the process, rolled over, grabbed the lip of the floor, and swung myself down to the next floor. Only the area immediately around the stairs had any light from the window. I sprinted, bumped off something, ducked around it, and put my back against a wall, panting.

My ankles hurt, my hands were raw, I was out of breath, I was behind a table, and I still had a fucking crossbow bolt in my stomach. And I felt stronger than ever. I managed to calm my breathing down just as I heard the crunch of glass being stepped on.

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

Sophia's voice echoed from the stairwell. "I was impressed."

_Crunch_

_Crunch_

She stopped, and chuckled. "You are very good at dodging. But you ran instead of fought."

The sound of a cord in tension, and a faint click. If she came into the room, I could possibly sneak past her. My hand tightened on the stolen bolt. Or I could end this right here. If she kept talking, I could run, silently and hit her with everything I had. I could feel hate waiting, just to be focused into a point to _burn _her. If I could touch her, I would win.

If I couldn't, I would die.

I breathed quietly, not daring to sneak my head out or speak.

Sophia spat, "If you are that weak, you should have just given up."

I swept my hand across my injury, and winced. It hurt, and I could feel blood coating my hand. I steeled myself. I reached behind me, and pulled. The faint _shlorp_ of the bolt being pulled out was barely audible to me as I clenched my teeth and screamed my rage inside my own head. Now I had two weapons, but I was not quiet enough.

"That was stupid. You just pulled out my bolt, didn't you? Stupid. I'm giving you free advice; you aren't going to last long, now."

I turned the burning rage inside me to my stomach, roaring indignity that my body had failed me. My right hand felt the bleeding stop. I transferred a bolt to it, and waited.

"Here, I'll even give you a break." Something rattled, and stopped. "I'll throw these out there. If you cuff yourself, I'll take you to Panacea. You know who she is, right? You won't have a hole in you as you rot in prison."

A pair of what I could only assume to be cuffs were tossed across the room, landing with a series of clanks.

I'd pass on those, thank you.

The room was quiet for several minutes.

"No? Well, that's okay. Whatever scum you work for won't miss you too much. He might even visit you in the hospital if this is over soon."

I'd have to make my move soon. For all I knew, the entire cape population of Brockton Bay was on the way now. If I could use the shadows to disguise myself, could I use them to move? Could I become them?

I moved to the edge of my cover, and sympathized with my shadow. If it could cover me, couldn't it be me?

I broke from around the edge of the table, throwing my left hand bolt across the room.

It landed with a clatter, and the twang of a crossbow followed it, with a shriek of pierced metal.

I reached the light, and her second crossbow was but a few degrees off. She stepped back, surprised at my frontal assault, and loosed her remaining bolt. It pierced me.

Or, it pierced my shadow, as I came apart into a cloud of darkness, reforming behind her, right hand coming down, bolt in hand, point holding my carefully nurtured hate and glowing with green flames.

She moved enough, out of reflex, that instead of the base of her neck, I pierced the section between her shoulder and upper back plating, breaking the bolt as I twisted it in. With a green flare, flames erupted in the cut, and spread almost instantly.

With a piercing scream, she jumped, intangible, through the roof. She left behind her crossbows, a stench of burning meat, and her right arm. The burning bolt clattered to the ground, sputtering as it was consumed by the green flames.

I paused, breathing heavily.

Fuck.

* * *

Second Breath 1.8

With a series of pops, the bolt shard died down to faintly glowing embers.

Shit, shit, shit.

I ran up the stairs, my steps silent, stomach protesting. I had a dozen powers now, felt stronger, and had just almost killed Sophia. But most of all, I needed to get out, but without Sophia taking a potshot at me. For all I knew, she had a third crossbow. I checked over my shoulder, and then used my half of the bloody bolt to clear out the remaining shards of glass in the window. I pulled myself through, cutting my hands on the frame.

Wincing at my new additions to my aches and pains, I looked back. A faint green glow lingered, showing above the building, back where I had caught Sophia's bolt. With a grimace, I carefully moved in the direction of the school, trying not to aggravate the hole in my stomach more.

Of course, I had large patches of blood on my front and back, so unless I wanted to blow my cover, I had to clean up. I change directions, limped to where I knew there was a gas station.

* * *

The door was locked, and with the trash can underneath the handle to keep it closed. In the streaky mirror, I could see a black disk on my forehead, dimming the light around it. The bathroom was disgusting, and I wouldn't have been caught dead in there in other circumstances. But I couldn't go out looking like the person who just burnt off Shadow Stalker's arm, nor did I want an infection. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

I pulled off my jacket, my disguise rippling, wincing as fibers pulled out of my wound. The disguise held, but I nearly tore my jacket apart, wrenching it with my hands in pain. Panting, I dropped it on the toilet lid, and started to pull my shirt up. Fibers pulled through congealed blood and raw flesh, and I clenched my jaw, strangling a scream. I rolled my shirt up at my midriff, and inspected my wound.

A big fucking hole sat barely an inch up and left of my belly button, slowly dripping blood. Clenching my whole frame in concentration, I stopped the bleeding. A neat trick, but I had more important things to do right now. I turned on the hot water, and started cleaning blood off my stomach and back with damp paper towels. I desperately tried to scrub the blood out of my jeans, but it was a bust. All I had done was make it look like I pissed myself, and then bleed from a stomach wound. I rolled my shirt back down, gingerly, and put my jacket it back on.

I sat on the toilet, and sobbed. I had tried to, and nearly killed Sophia. Even now, she probably didn't have my stop bleeding power, and was probably spraying blood everywhere. So, I had killed her. It would just take longer. And she had been trying to kill me.

It had been easy. I had stopped thinking of my powers as such, and just acted. I hadn't kept that invisible separation from my powers. I hadn't acted as cape, I had acted as myself. And what was I? I had way too many powers to be a cape. I had dodged a crossbow bolt, survived its predecessor, had stopped the bleeding, turned into a shadow, and lit Sophia on fire, in addition to my previous powers. I couldn't think of any capes with that many. That damn spider hadn't explained anything, and now I was even more in the dark.

On the plus side, I thought bitterly, I had an idea about my glowing.

_Bam-bam-bam!_

Someone pounded on the door, and yelled, "Hurry the hell up!"

I stalked to the door, pulled the can back, and brushed right past the middle-aged woman.

"Well, excuse me! Manners!"

I ignored her. I had to get back to school before I missed my pick up.

* * *

A block from school, I ducked into an alley. I used a broken piece of glass to examine my forehead. No mark. I dropped my disguise, shadows slithering off me, taking off my jacket as well. I tied it like a half skirt around my left side, blocking the bloodstains from view, barring the entry and exit wounds on the jacket itself.

I moved back onto the grounds carefully, not wanting to be spotted. I re-entered by the same door I had left, and moved to the front of the building. If my dad was here early, I could leave with a minimum of fuss.

No luck.

Instead, I retreated to the girl's bathroom, and sat down on the windowsill, mind empty. Barely ten minutes later, the bell rang. One of Emma's groupies came in on its heels, took a look at me, and left. I sighed. At least they were leaving me alone for now.

They probably would for all time when they found out I killed Sophia.

Not a minute later, Emma and Madison walked in to the bathroom. Behind them, I could see more of their clique standing and chatting in front of the door.

I groaned. Not what I needed right now.

"I'm surprised you didn't just leave again, Taylor," Emma said.

"Crying," Madison added.

I just stared at Emma. Did she know that Sophia was Shadow Stalker? Or more probably, had been? They were close, I knew that, but Sophia didn't seem like she would take off her mask for kicks. She had been very serious with me, I knew.

"I bet she didn't even get kidnapped," Madison remarked to Emma, "Maybe she just sat in her room and cried."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Emma said, smiling at me.

She wouldn't!

"Would it, Taylor? Did you just cry all week?"

I popped off the windowsill, and pulled my fist back, pouring hate into to the very point of it, throwing it forward to connect right in her mouth -

Emma's eyes widened in surprise. What was I doing? I stopped my fist, spinning slightly as I bled momentum. They were as stunned as I was, but I moved first.

"What do you think-" Emma shrieked, before I pushed her and Madison out of the way. I ran into the door, knocking both girls who had been leaning against it into their friends. More shouts, echoed behind me, as I ran towards the front. I shoved past more people in my way, and I heard more complaints behind me. I slipped through the opened door, and stopped, searching.

My dad stood by his car. I walked towards him, and picked up the pace as I went, until I slammed into him, into a hug, eyes streaming.

My dad wrapped his arms around me, and whispered, "It'll be alright, kiddo. Everything will be alright."

CHAPTER ONE: END.

* * *

Interlude One

Director Emily Piggot walked into the conference room, clutching a cup off coffee like the Holy Grail. She took a sip, and set it on her coaster. She nodded to a man behind a camera. He spoke, "This is January the 10, 2011, at 0930. Meeting begins."

"What do we know? Washington is eager, to say the least, for anything more than preliminary information."

A man in the uniform of a PRT officer spoke, "So far, we have constructed a timeline, and have some observations, and guesses."

"Guesses?" The Director asked.

"At this point, we can offer nothing concrete. To be honest ma'am, this is a bad one."

A projector clicked on, and the timeline was displayed across the room from the Director.

"At exactly 21:32:45 yesterday evening, a pillar of light exploded at this location,"

With a button press, the screen showed an over head of the Docks, with a location encircled in red, followed by multiple angles of said pillar, colored black, green and purple.

"At the same time, all precogs we have been able to contact experienced severe disruptions, if not total black outs, immediately. It lessened in severity later, but.. Well, any attempts to use precog on Brockton Bay returned nothing, incomprehensible information, implausible information, or for some few, different information even when queried with identical conditions."

"Examples?"

"Weathervane on three tries; Snow, Sunny, and Sunny."

Director Piggot, looked out the window, at the overcast skies. "Continue."

"However, at this time the event's effect has lessened. All precogs are able to use their abilities, however any focusing on the Bay are still giving inaccurate information. For example, Kaiser's attack on the ABB this morning went unpredicted by both Appraiser and Eleventh Hour."

"Ratings?"

"They rated a Blue and a One."

The Director waved her hand, frowning.

"However, any attempts to see who or what did this have been completely fruitless. That's all on my half. Jim?" He said, handing over the remote to an officer wearing a lab coat.

The projector clicked, this time showing a lower shot of the scene, in color. "This is the most recent overhead shot, at 0814 this morning. We have begun analyzing the scene, and we have several findings. First, the epicenter was some sort of egg-shaped object, made of metal similar to brass."

A click, and pictures of people in hazmat suits holding large bronze pieces of metal, all curved. Green writing, glowing faintly, could be seen.

"And the writing?"

"Unknown. We ran in through every database we have access to, and it's still unknown. The closest match we got was Mayan script, but it didn't translate. In addition the material began to rapidly decay. Smaller pieces within minutes, and the last piece decayed at sunrise, 7:12 this morning. Tests on the material before it decayed revealed it to be abnormally stronger than it should have been."

"Details?"

"Chemical analysis revealed it to be bronze, however, we were unable to identify the green or black materials. Additionally, the bronze had a pH of 1.2." At the looks of confusion, he said, "Slightly less acidic than stomach acid. In addition, we preformed several tests on the pieces that lasted longer."

A quick successions of photos; "We tested a 9mm, a 7.62, and a .50 caliber, all of which failed to penetrate or damage a plate less than a centimeter thick. Pressure tests were unable to break or bend it, and it took up to 1500 Kelvin without melting. In other words, it is a very, very strong material."

Another photo, this time of the whole scene from about 50 feet up. "As you can see, the area around it has been changed as well; metals have become bronze – actual bronze, not this wonder bronze- bricks and stone have changed to some sort of obsidian analogue, and all plants died within a 200 yard radius. That's all we know at this time."

Behind the Director, the door opened. Armsmaster walked in, and took an empty seat. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he nodded.

"Threat Level?"

"Unknown. We have never seen an Endbringer being made or born, so the theory that this is one could be valid. In addition, the precog blocking supports that theory, as does the timing. However, there has been no attack, so unless this Endbringer is radically different, we can say it is probably not, 60% confidence."

"Then what do we tell Washington?"

"A, ready to go to S."

The Director stood, and said, "Thank you for your time, gentlemen. The tape and my recommendations are going to Washington."

The officers filed out, the man with the camera following. Armsmaster walked to the Director, instead.

"Is it her?"

"No. I ordered an MRI, and she is definitely not a parahuman."

"Well, that would have been too easy. Shadow Stalker still adhering to her new probation?"

Armsmaster grimaced. "Somewhat. She doesn't so much slip the leash so much as tug on it every chance she gets."

"I'll have another talk with her."

* * *

Topic: Disco Disco Good Good: The Brockton Bay Lights Official Thread

In: Boards: News: Events: America

WaterArthropod (Original Poster)(Moderator)

Posted on January 10, 2011

On the night of 9 January, a pillar of light popped up in Brockton Bay. Keep all discussions on it in this thread, please.

Known Facts: Pre-cog powers didn't work quite right off the bat, and still aren't working perfectly.

It is not the Illuminati.

Nor the aliens.

Keep it civil.

Edit: I mean it people, I will ban.

Showing: Page 58 of 58

Alcidae

Replied on January 10, 2011:

And it could be an Endbringer.

Goy

Replied on January 10, 2011:

I don't disagree.

But at this time, we have no information, both from official and unofficial sources.

Making guesses out of our asses won't help.

MechanicalMessiah

Replied on January 10, 2011:

So, still no releases?

Sugreeva

Replied on January 10, 2011:

Scion's evil twin?

ImaginedStick

Replied on January 10, 2011:

Would he have a reverse goatee, then?

* * *

"How is she doing?"

Panacea looked at Armsmaster. He looked exhausted as he stared through the observation window. She debated giving him a boost, but he would probably take it the wrong way. "Better. But it was close. If the hospital hadn't called me immediately, and if she been a moment slower, it would have been too late."

"What happened to her?"

"First, I will say the damage was unique. I've never seen anything like this. Probably a high powered pyrokinetic, limited to close range."

She pointed to a diagram of the human body across the room. "Some sort of sword or edged weapon entered her right shoulder, right in between the scapula and clavicle. It erupted in flames. I can tell it erupted in the wound because the burning was evenly distributed. Had it been on fire prior to entry, the entry wound would have significantly more damage."

"And the damage?"

"Not like any burns I've handled. The fire seemed to eat the flesh and bone, almost like an acid, and left only ashes. Normally it takes a very high heat to ash bone, upwards of 1500 Celsius, but from the fact that her costume didn't catch fire, its clear we are dealing with a parahuman's power."

The room they looked at had a single bed, with its occupant breathing steadily. The dark skin of her face stood out against the white sheets, as did both of her uncovered arms.

"When we she be out of sedation?"

"Tomorrow. She was in shock, and very panicked. I don't want her to wake up and injure herself."

Armsmaster smiled, tiredly, "Thank you."

Panacea shrugged. "Just tell Shadow Stalker she owes me one."


	2. 2: Accursed Fortune

Disclaimer: Exalted is White Wolf's, Worm is Wildbow's (Don't forget to vote.) I'm just playing with their toys.

Accursed Fortune 2.1

* * *

_Fwoosh. _The crumpled ball of toilet paper in my hand ignited, faintly illuminating the darkened bathroom, and breaking the monotonous sound of pouring water. The green fire burned it to ashes in my hand with ease, dropping the room back to darkness. I stuck my hands under the water, washing the ash off, and switched the light back on. On my forehead, my mark had returned, faint.

But I had figured out – somewhat – how to prevent it.

_Fwoosh_. Another ball burned to ash, and my mark became much more prominent. A prickling on my skin accompanied it. I grinned.

It turned out I had two sources of power; an inner and an outer. When I had been fighting Sophia, I could feel the inner emptying and replenishing, until I finally had to use my outer. The outer felt bigger, but made me glow. And, if my previous experience with my mark had been correct, the more prominent version would disappear within the hour. And if I had used another fire attack, from the outer pool, it would have turned me glowy. I was learning.

Unfortunately, my wound wasn't so quick to heal. It had been nearly half a day, and while it was not bleeding and had scabbed over, it still wasn't healed. Super-healing would have been a nice benefit.

One Sophia probably didn't have. I sobered up. The news hadn't said anything about Sophia, which was either very good or very bad. For her. I still didn't know how it affect me. I had been disguised, so she couldn't point me out, but my powers seemed unique. It wouldn't be hard to connect person who burned Shadow Stalker's arm off with the new cape who used green fire and shadows.

And that I had tried to kill her. Successful or not, I had tried to kill her, without hesitation. Self-defense, maybe, but what did that say about me, that I jumped right to killing her, instead of trying to flee?

Rubbing at the goosebumps on my arms, I left the bathroom, and got back into bed. I didn't sleep easy.

The smell of cooking bacon woke me up. Still tired, I nearly fell out of bed, wincing at pain from my stomach as I stretched my wound. And, with dawning horror, I realized I didn't have anything to wear. The only set of clothes that had actually fit were soaked in blood, hidden in the back of my closet. Even if I could clean the blood off, the shirt had a big hole in it.

A quick knock-knock on my door was followed by my dad's voice, "Taylor? Breakfast."

Pajamas it was then.

* * *

Breakfast was a silent affair. So was the car ride. Wearing a pair of khakis with the inner hem cut down, and the next largest shirt in my closet, I dreaded my dad commenting on it. My dad didn't speak until we were nearly there, startling me. "You don't have to go back if you don't want to. I'd understand if you didn't feel up to it."

"Well, if I don't start now, I don't think I ever will."

He stayed quiet until we pulled into a parking spot at school. His hands twisted on the wheel, as he built up the courage to say something.

"Taylor. Yesterday, did... they try something again?"

I resisted the urge to squirm. Oh, they had tried something. One had tried really hard. "Sorta. They just said something that upset me."

"Are you sure-"

"Yes dad. I have to."

"Okay," he replied with an exhalation of breath. He leaned over and hugged me, which I didn't object to in the least.

"You look great, Taylor, and have a great day. I'll pick you up at 3 again."

I exited the car, and as I walked to the door, I waved to him as he pulled out, going back to work.

As he went out of sight, I started off to the public library.

* * *

This early in the morning, the library was almost empty. I secured a public computer with a modicum of privacy, and opened an empty journal. I got the feeling I was forgetting something, but I brushed it off.

Opening the browser, I went straight to the news. Still nothing official had been released, but the major sites had news that pre-cogs all over the globe were still having problems, and that capes from the New York branch of the Protectorate hadn't been spotted in the city. Implying they were here.

On Parahumans Online, I searched for Shadow Stalker. No news on her, and nothing important on the message boards. Only creeps, fans, and creepy fans. Pausing in my search, I drummed my fingers. If I couldn't get up to date info on her, I could at least look at the competition.

The Protectorate, the largest American organization of heroes, and the one receiving the most government funding and support, had a fairly large of collection of heroes in the city. Armsmaster, a Tinker, Miss Militia, who could create guns out of energy, and Dauntless, who was oddly similar to me, were the heavy hitters in town. Dauntless could infuse his power into his items, making them stronger over time. The message boards claimed that within the year he would solo Alexandria, but I took that with a grain of salt.

The New Wave, formerly the Brockton Bay Brigade, was a group of capes who had surrendered their secret identities. Consisting of two related families, Lady Photon, her husband Manpower, children Laserdream and Shielder were one half. Lady Photon's sister Brandish and her husband Flashbang had two daughters, Glory Girl and Panacea. Remembering the latter's name, I looked up her page. She was a healer par excellence. Maybe Sophia had been serious about getting me medical attention.

The last major hero group in the Bay was one I knew more about, the Wards, or the Junior Protectorate to be more glib. The members of the Wards graduated to the Protectorate once they hit 18, and basically it functioned as a training ground for heroes. And if I wanted to join, I'd have to demonstrate my powers. Including green fire, which I'm sure they would be very interested in.

Villains; the Bay had two major powers, the Azn Bad Boys and the Empire Eighty-Eight. And the previous cold war between them was heating up. The morning after I had woken up, the Empire Eighty-Eight had bombed two ABB hang outs, and attacked and killed Oni Lee, the lieutenant of the ABB. Leaving the ABB with just one parahuman in their ranks, their leader, Lung. Who had, by the rumors on the board, driven Leviathan off with only minor damage. The Empire Eighty-Eight had a bevy of parahumans; starting with their leader Kaiser, followed by the twins Menja and Fenja, Hookwolf, and a variety of new capes.

In addition, various minor powers such as the Merchants and several mercenary groups rounded out the cape scene. I clicked my pen, hand cramping from filling my journal. I had roughly a page on each parahuman, including their powers and a brief history, of both themselves and their allegiances.

Done with my intelligence gathering, I decided to look for anything related to myself. Greek superhero teams yielded a group called the Olympians, with names like Zeus and Hera. Shadow powers and discorporation powers brought up a few, including two in the Bay – Grue and Night – but nothing close to my variety.

Capes who could give out powers were rarer. Most of them were in the Birdcage, including Teacher, who had assassinated several world leaders with empowered mooks. Nilbog, who had taken over a town with enhanced minions created from people – or people enhanced with powers, it didn't say. But no known power-givers were close to the Bay at this point in time. My theory that I was a bit different seemed to be gaining more credence.

I nearly snapped my pen in half as I sat up in surprise. Journal had jogged my thoughts for a damn good reason: I had left my notebooks scattered across the scene of Sophia's attempted assassination of me. I grabbed my journal and moved with purpose out of the library.

* * *

Half a mile from where we had fought, I moved off the street, crossing through an alleyway. As I exited, I no longer looked like myself; instead, I looked like a mix of the two female reporters I had seen on the news last night. I had felt my inner pool empty as I cloaked myself, confirming that my powers used the same source.

As I got closer to the site, I could hear the sound of machinery. I stopped, stunned as I saw PRT vans on the street by the building. A crane was up, and police line surrounded the site. I turned away, not wanting to be spotted, with a crunch. Looking down, I saw a piece of notebook paper trapped underneath my shoe. With shaking hands, I picked it up.

The page was covered in my hand writing.

* * *

Accursed Fortune 2.2

The rumble of a diesel engine signaled the crane moving, carrying what looked like a large slab of concrete. As I watched, it set it in the back of a PRT vehicle, which then left the scene. Collecting evidence. A piece of which was in my hand. I crumpled it, and stuffed it into my pocket.

"Ma'am?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Turning, I saw a PRT officer holding his hand out. His other was resting in between a pistol-shape and a pair of handcuffs.

"I think you have something we need, ma'am."

I burned the dregs in my inner pool, focusing on escaping before I could be questioned, or worse, arrested. As I handed him my crumpled notes, I said in a ditzy voice, "Oh, I thought I was just picking up trash. What happened here?"

"Same as the other one. Now, I'll need you to step back, for your own safety. And in the future, don't mess with crime scenes."

I left as soon as he looked away from me, another power confirmed.

The bus stopped at a light, shaking me from my reverie. What all had I left there? Blood, notebooks, and evidence of my powers. Did my disguise extend to my blood? It seemed to be more of an illusion than an actual physical change. And I hadn't written my name in my notebooks, so far as I could remember. Though, my memory was probably not the clearest at the moment. Panic has a way of blurring things. The green fire that I had ignited with the bolt could still be smoldering, and I had released some form of green energy when I had dodged Sophia's second bolt.

Not good.

Maybe one of those things would be enough to brush off, but the first two would link right back to me. And even with a disguise, if I used my power in public, I'd bring down a serious hammer on my alter-self. So, I couldn't use the green fire, and possibly the shadow-form. My disguise power was still a fair bet, and as was my sensory power. I hadn't figured out quite what escaping one was, but it should be unknown as well. The always on ones; the bleeding-stopper, the fast, silent running, and the increased resilience - After all, I hadn't died to a crossbow bolt – could be explained away or seem unimportant.

So. I should start being a cape as soon as possible, if only to build goodwill, in the worst case of my identities coming out. I couldn't join the Wards, and New Wave wouldn't accept me as I wasn't a part of their families.

I was going to be a independent hero, a vigilante.

* * *

The Salvation Army store was almost empty, but for the two employees and another browser. I managed to avoid them, and pick out several trousers, shirts, and blouses, that while not fashionable, were within my very limited budget, and physical requirements.

A black hoodie caught my eye. New, it would have been decorated in bronze lettering, but now the lettering was faded, and had decayed into blocky shapes. Perfect. I added a black scarf, and a pair of black corduroy jeans to my stack. I'd have just enough to get home on the bus.

Tonight, I'd go out.

* * *

I dropped my purchases off, out of sight of the back door, and entered my house.

"Dad?"

No answer. I went into his room, the living room, and knocked and entered the bathroom. He wasn't here. I went back out, and practically ran to my room with my arms full. I stuffed my proto-costume into the far back of the closet, and the new clothes to the front. Relieved, I went down to the phone in the kitchen, and dialed the Dockworker's Association.

"Dockworker's Association, how can I help you?"

"Hi, this is Taylor Hebert, and I-"

"Oh, Taylor! It's wonderful to hear you got home safe. Your dad was really worried."

More guilt. Hurray. "It's good to be home, and could you get my dad for me?"

"Sure, he just got in a few minutes ago."

With a clunk, the phone was set down. I curled the cord in my fingers, thinking. I didn't have a name for myself, and I didn't have much of a costume. Of course, I'd be disguised, but I wouldn't have many powers I could use in a direct fight. At least, without glowing.

Power-wise; I had a new pinch of information, and a hunch. The escaping power took less than disguising. If I was correct, my fire also took less, which would be very good if things went absolutely wrong. I still wasn't sure about my sensory power and discorporation power, but I was thinking low and high, respectively. I couldn't be sure with out further experimentation -

"Taylor!" My dad's urgent voice broke my concentration. "Are you okay? What happened?"

I played my hunch, and the trickle that had filled my inner pool over the past two hours was expended. Deflecting away from the truth, I said, "I just couldn't take it at school anymore. Today wasn't easy. I just wanted to let you know so you wouldn't worry."

"Okay. I'll be home soon, okay?"

"Got it."

"See you in a few, kiddo."

* * *

Dinner was awkward. I had napped until then, so my dad hadn't talked to me yet. At dinner, he kept trying to press for information on what had happened at school today, and I didn't want to waste my inner pool before I went out. My newest power could make me lie very well, and I didn't want to use it on my Dad when I might need it tonight.

I could remember using it to dodge Sophia's bolts as well, fleeing to keep myself safe. It seemed fairly broad in its applicability, but I'd have to play with it a bit before I could classify it. Finally, he went to sleep. An hour later, I slipped my pajamas off, and put on my costume. I wore the Alexandria shirt underneath as half-joke, half-good luck charm. Tying the scarf around my lower face and forehead, I closed the back door with a quite click. Pools full, I stretched, ready.

I started to the Docks.

* * *

Accursed Fortune 2.3

The Docks had once been a thriving part of the Atlantic trade routes, one of the larger transshipping ports on the East Coast. But, eventually everything changes, and the Docks took it hard. The people who owned the businesses made it out, but the people who lived and worked in the Docks, in the warehouses, piers, and supporting services stayed. Perfect ground for a supervillan who needed muscle, cheap.

The vast majority of gang activity in Brockton Bay was there; both the ABB and Empire Eighty-Eight, the biggest, were major presences. Previously, the conflict between them had been a cold war, primarily low-level action that only made a blurb in the news or the paper. A drug dealer beaten up, or a prostitute robbed.

But the day before yesterday, the morning after my awakening, Kaiser, the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight had heated things up. Two ABB locations had been bombed, with at least a dozen deaths, and the lieutenant of the ABB, Oni Lee, a teleporter, had been killed. All the ABB had left for parahumans was Lung. He was strong, and only got stronger in a fight, but even he could only be in one place at a time. Kaiser would be pressing his advantage.

As I crossed into the Docks, I tried a new trick. I split the cost for my disguise in half, half from the inner and half from the outer pool. It worked, leaving at least two-thirds left in the inner. I scavenged behind my convenient alley, and found a mostly intact glass bottle. Only a mark, no glow, and the face I had worn earlier staring back at me. I tossed it away, and started my search for my secondary objective. If I didn't want to use my powers, I needed a weapon. It took ten minutes, but I eventually found a two foot section of pipe, lightly rusted.

Sticking to the shadows and alleys, I stayed out of sight of the denizens of the Docks; on the streets, primarily prostitutes, druggies, and drunks. The local upper class stayed indoors, apparently. I was looking for any sign of the Empire Eighty-Eight. If Kaiser won the war he initiated with the ABB, I was sure he'd try to eliminate or subdue the remainder of the gangs in the Bay, and then he'd essentials be an African Warlord, in a US city. Not agreeable. Even worse, they were a white supremacist gang, and I could only imagine what they would do when they took over.

With the local heroes all standing guard on my hatching spot, and now also probably at my first fight, they would be stretched too thin to decisively stop Kaiser, especially as he would have the initiative. If I could just put one villain out of commission, or even make the Empire Eighty-Eight more cautious, it might help make up for the distraction I had been.

* * *

An hour in, I was about to call it a bust. My stomach still didn't feel great, and I hadn't found nary a tattoo nor tag of the Empire Eighty-Eight. If I didn't find anything soon, I'd go back. Every minute could count if my dad woke up and checked on me.

Raucous noise, best described as hooting and hollering, was faintly discernible in the distance. I quickened my pace, breaking into my silent, powered run. I stopped at the corner of a building, looking around.

Two men, both skinheads, were spray painting a swastika on a building. I twirled my pipe, thinking. They weren't really harming anyone, but they were probably part of the Empire. For all I knew, this was gang etiquette between warring parties. Decision made, I broke into a full sprint, silent as a still night. As I got closer, they both laughed, sharing a joke. The left one had spoken last before they broke into laughter.

I hit him with _my _punchline, sweeping my pipe into his knee. A wet crack, and he collapsed, screaming and clutching at himself.

His partner turned at the sound of metal on flesh, to receive my backswing, slamming right into his groin. He coughed, spraying spit, and hunched over. I brought the pipe up and around in a full swing, double handed, to land on his collarbone with a snap. He went down, holding his groin with one hand and cursing. I sprinted away, still silent.

Two down, I thought, heading north, deeper into the Docks.

* * *

I passed two more swastikas, along with a collection of E88 tags as I slowed down to a jog, then a walk. My heart was pounding, and I took deep, calming breaths. I took care to walk as silently as I could, though not as silently as I could run. The dichotomy was an interesting one. Noise-wise, I could hear shouts, this time. I sprinted again, getting as close as I could, peeking around a corner, low to the ground.

A large open area was filled with struggling forms. A melee was taking place between men and women in green and red against men and women without a uniform, barring the frequent shaved heads. With a low-pitched thud, a slab of concrete impacted in the middle, and the knots of bodies separated. A girl, barely older than me, stepped around a corner.

"Fucking Chinks!" she screamed. "Give up, or I'll squish your fucking squinty eyes!"

Lovely. Rune, a telekinetic, who could move and control heavy objects just by touching them. Against unpowered opponents, she was a nightmare.

The ABB members, in green and red, further away from me, looked askance at each other.

I couldn't beat both sides on my own, but if Rune was out of play, and I didn't have to fight all of them -

I broke into a sprint, heading towards Rune's back. Only one man, dressed like a Nazi lumberjack barred my way. A cross swing to the knee dropped him to the other knee, howling in pain. I made it to Rune as she turned around, and swung at her face.

With a blast of dust, she lifted off, riding a new slab of concrete. My pipe hit the edge of it as it rose, ringing, and leaving my hand stinging.

Rune shouted as she rose, "Fucking kill'em!"

* * *

Accursed Fortune 2.4

Shit.

At her shout, I turned, following through from the rebound, and crossed the two steps to a woman covered in tattoos. She blocked my downward swing with raised arms, screaming as my pipe broke at least one of her arms. I turned, and ran straight for the ABB members. They were already charging across the clearing, knives, tire irons, and fists ready. I pivoted a few yards from them, to join their rush. Hoping they would count me on their side. If both joined against me -

I was tackled to the side, surprised enough that I didn't club my attacker. With a _boom_, Rune's concrete slab impacted were I had been, showering us with dirt. My tackler, a man, an inch shorter than me, but probably twice my weight, hauled me up with him.

"Powers!?" I nodded at his shouted question.

He pointed at Rune, who was pulling a slab of roofing off of her perch. "Get her! We've got them!"

Another nod, and I silently ran towards her. And promptly rolled to the side and forward, as a section of rafters flew towards me. It hit the ground, exploding into splinters.

As I rolled I saw the concrete slab was screaming right towards me, skimming right above the ground. I sprung back upright, running towards Rune, and away from the closing slab. I ran, the whistling of the slab closer and closer until it was about to hit me-

and it hit my shadow as I discorporated, becoming the slab's shadow and reforming on top of it. I could feel my mark on my forehead as I burnt a chunk of my outer pool. A moment before the slab slammed into Rune's building, I jumped up, a burning sensation accompanying my inner pool regaining part of the power I had spent earlier in the evening. I skidded onto the roof, and sprinted towards Rune. She blasted off again, this time riding a rafter like a horse.

A rumbling signaled the concrete slab freeing itself from the wall, and I ran towards the hole she had torn in the roof. I jumped in, and above me, the slab _whooshed_ by.

"Come out, pussy!"

The slab punching through the roof punctuated her statement.

The door facing me was still closed, so I sprinted, burning a chunk of my inner pool _to escape_, and with a flying kick, it disintegrating around me, my inner pool regaining almost as much as I lost. I recovered, and at full speed, I ran down the alleyway, back towards the clearing.

Two skinheads down had turned the tide for the ABB, and already half of the remaining were either incapacitated or sporting injuries, for one ABB out of the fight.

Bricks shattering signaling the return of the slab, I threw myself into a complete stop. The slab cleared my face by about an inch, trailing brick dust. I recharged a bit, and ran to the clearing, breaking into a quick slide to change direction. Above and in front of me, Rune floated on her rafter, screaming invectives.

I couldn't reach her like this. My shadow form was limited to what appeared to be under half a dozen yards. She was easily floating at 20. I couldn't hit her from here. The slab was taking a beating; already, it had shrunken by half it's size from the damage Rune was inflicting on it. When it was down to nothing, would she flee?

"Stop dodging you fucking slant eyed faggot!"

Probably not.

The slab whirred past me from the front, as I expended a sliver of inner power. A plan came to mind. I turned, running parallel to Rune. The slab came back around, and as it almost hit me, it instead punched through a cloud of darkness, and I was on top. I whipped my arm back, pipe in hand like a javelin, and burning the remainder of my inner pool, the pipe flying like a missile as I kicked off the slab, rolling to a stop.

Rune dodged, surprised, but enough so that the pipe missed her center mass, instead plunging through her right torso. With a scream, she plummeted, and then jerkily flew away. I exhaled, and turned to sprint towards the remainder of the fight.

Only for it to be already over. Two more ABB were down, but the dozen or so skinheads told of their victory. The well-muscled man who had pulled me out of the way of Rune's concrete Taylor-seeker waved me over.

"Jin," he offered, as he held out his hand.

Surreally, I shook his hand, "I don't have a name yet."

He nodded, "That shadow trick was neat. And you saved our asses. Let's pick up the wounded and go back -"

A scream broke his words. At the edge of the clearing, a girl and man stood over one of the incapacitated ABB members. He was clutching his left arm, which ended in a stump, and rocking back and forth. The girl, her curved sword with a spattering of blood, pierced the unattached hand, and flicked it towards us. The man, leaning on a dumpster behind her, seemed to unfold into a thousand blades.

"You shouldn't play with your food," Hookwolf offered with a low chuckle, voice reverberating in his metal wolf mask.

Jin clapped my shoulder, and stepped up beside me.

Cricket laughed, and sliced the rocking man's other hand off, leaving him sobbing, curled into a fetal position.

"All yours. You know I don't like it when they don't fight back."

With a glimmer of metal, the crying ABB member seemed to come apart into pieces, accompanied by wet sounds and a pool of blood.

"Don't worry. I'll take my time with you, when it's my turn. I-" Hookwolf addressed us.

The crash of metal on concrete behind me broke his statement.

"No,"

A blast of fire blew Hookwolf into a dumpster.

"It's my turn," Lung said through his metal mask.

* * *

Accursed Fortune 2.5

"I'm surprised you haven't just left," Hookwolf said, breaking the stunned silence.

To my left, Jin said something, quickly and quietly, in a language I couldn't understand. Several of the still standing ABB members took off at a run, retreating. He nudged my hand. I looked down, and saw he was offering me a tire iron. I took it, clenching it tightly in my right hand.

My inner pool was empty, and I had spent enough from my outer that the next power would likely leave me lit up. I couldn't run without leaving the ABB members to probably be killed. The copper stink wafting my way changed that to 'certainly be killed'. Lung and Hookwolf would face off, leaving Cricket, with the sword, to wipe them out. I didn't have any good options.

"You should have," Lung rumbled. His voice was heavily accented, but deep. Scales covered portions of his body, totally up to maybe a tenth of his total surface area.

"Well, at least -" Hookwolf said, before he sprinted forward, a cacophony of metal on metal accompanying him as a tidal wave of blades erupted from his chest. Lung's second blast of fire blew him back off his feet, skidding. The smell of burning flesh joined that of blood. As Hookwolf emerged from the wafts of smoke surrounding him, patches of marred his skin. Or, on second look, flesh was only covering the metal underneath.

Meanwhile, Lung had lumbered – the sheer weight of him moving couldn't be called running – to a partial rafter that had survived Rune and I's fight. He carried it in a single hand, and with thudding steps went straight for Hookwolf. They met with a clash of metal and flesh on metal and flesh, with a side of woodsaw. Lung staggered back, bleeding, as Hookwolf flew back for the third time, trailing wood chips. The rafter-cum-baseball bat was but a stump.

"So I get you all? That hardly seems fair," turning, I cursed my inattentiveness. Cricket was only a dozen yards away, sword resting on her shoulder. I had nearly died from not paying attention.

"For you, dyke." Jin spat. Three ABB members spread out to my left and right each, with Jin to my left. "I'm surprised _you_ showed up. Your Jew girlfriend kick you out of bed?"

Her hand tightened on her sword. "Thank you for making this more fun, then."

Lung roared, away from us, a surprisingly human sound of frustration. The crash of metal on metal was deafeningly loud.

She stalked towards us. One of the ABB members on my right rushed forward, and recieved a cut from thigh to ribcage for his impatience. The remaining five stepped back at that. Jin yelled something, in an non-understandable language again, waving his knife. The cut man's screamed warred with Jin's barked commands, and the men to my left and right seemed to waffle back and forth.

"You can run, of course." She said, stopping barely five yards from me. I reached down, grabbing a handful of dirt from behind me. "No takers?"

As I stood up, she rushed Jin and I. I tossed the dirt right for her face, burning outer energy, and her sword skidded off my tire iron, falling in between us. As the dirt impacted her face, an eerie green glow erupted out from me, drawing curses from my allies. Jin instead lunged forward, knife extended to Cricket's belly. She stepped back, bringing her sword up to block. The ABB members rushed her, as Jin recovered from having his knife knocked off course. Another step back, and she neatly sliced a man's throat, and his opposite's knife wielding arm. They fell down, with a gurgling moan and a scream, respectively.

Together, Jin and I lunged forward, his knife coming in for a slash at her hands, and my tire iron in an overhead crush. Again, even with dirt in her eyes, she dodged, left, and cut a third man's thigh open.

Jesus. We were down to four people in a fourth a minute. Jin faked another lunge, and she dodged towards me. I force my outer pool to burn as much as I could, swinging for her -

and nothing happened. The pool stayed at the same level, and I was in her range. My eyes widened, as her sword cut me in half. The fatally injured me came apart, and I reformed behind her, next to Jin.

The field around us was bathed in the eerie green light, now emanating with the strength of a noon-day sun. The shadows had returned, but they only covered the field around us in an inch deep ocean, pooling and swirling, splashing against buildings and people alike. Around us, a titanic bronze form exploded from the shadows, and took position above my head. The giant bronze spider, easily a dozen yards tall, dominated the sky, its legs coming down at the edges of the field.

Oh shit.

All of us still conscious on the field shielded our eyes at the sudden glaring brightness. "Neat tricks," Cricket said, before plunging her sword into the downed man's other thigh. "Not enough though."

She ran straight for me, sword held low, ignoring Jin, and I threw caution to the wind. I exploded into shadows as she thrust into me, and reforming, my tire iron swung at her head. She ducked, spun, close enough that I could see her teeth bared in a parody of a smile, and with an icy cold pain, sliced my middle from ribcage to hip. I gasped, and fell back onto my hands, tire iron skittering away.

Jin slashed at her, before stepping out of the way of a two handed slice, retreating. I pressed my hand to my abdomen, and felt hot blood staining soaking my clothes. Was this it? I tried to stop the bleeding, focusing my will, and it kept slipping away. Was this it? I didn't think I could survive this wound, and even if I could, I couldn't hit her. She had stabbed me right as I shifted out of my shadow-form. How?

How?

I got angry. Angry that I had failed, angry that I was weak, angry that I was going to die here in the dirt, buried as some gangbanger. It seared through my veins, burning my wound shut, and I turned rage to my body, furious that it was so weak. I screamed my rage, a noise more inhuman than Lung's, and sprinted for Cricket. Her sword flicked back, and sliced into my hoodie's arm. It bounced right off the inky black stone arm contained with in. Surprised, she ran away, back facing me. I swiped at her, claws cutting the air.

But every time, I missed, as she twisted out of the way of my swipes. She stopped, twisting to face me, and I matched her crazed grin. I crossed my arms to return the favor, claws posed to disembowel her. I lunged forward, and she sidestepped me, sword coming down in both hands from over her head, and it slammed into my shoulder. I could feel stone shattering, and it cut a divot an inch deep, straight through what would have been my collarbone. I screamed, and lost control of my lunge, rolling across the ground.

"For how many freaky powers you have, you sure suck," She said, boots kicking up dirt as she walked towards me. She stopped, looked up, surprised, and I heard a thud out of my sight. Hookwolf's voice echoed from his mask, a metallic rasp,

"Let's go. Kaiser will be angry if we get – Behind me!"

The night shattered with gunfire, impossibly loud. The dull rings of bullets hitting metal was barely discernible over the portable thunder. It tapered off, and stopped. I looked up, and saw Lung land with louder thud. He was now covered in scales, the largest bigger than my hand. In a voice that sounded tinny after so much gunfire, he barked something unintelligible. Jin responded, pointing, and Lung jumped away.

Jin crossed to me, and offered his hand again.

* * *

Accursed Fortune 2.6

I took it, careful not to claw him, and he pulled me up. I winced at my new injuries.

"You okay? You took a pair of hits there."

I nodded, suddenly tongue tied.

"Good. Help us out with the wounded?"

I nodded again, and carefully picked up the man who had been stabbed twice in the thighs. He moaned as I jostled him. Jin waved me over, a man slung over a shoulder. I followed him, slowly under the weight of another person.

Not 30 yards away, behind the building Rune and I had fought on, a line of pickups and sedans sat. ABB members were helping injured into the backs of vehicles, while others stood around, wielding both melee weapons and a motley collection of guns. An unarmed man and woman came up, and took the injured man from my arms. They placed him gently in the back of a truck, on some blankets, and the woman started compressing his cuts.

Of course, this was all illuminated by the now dimmer green glow extending from around me. It was dying down from mid noon to early morning in intensity. The light washed out the bright colors of the cars, and seemed to twist shadows into strange shapes, all around us. I needed it to go down, fast.

"Stone-girl?"

I turned to Jin, as he leaned on the rear end of the car in the front. He was wrapping his wrist, which had a minor cut. I hadn't noticed he'd been injured. At least one person had died tonight, and probably more would. Rune by my own hand. And who knew how injured the skinheads were. I suddenly felt exhausted, especially as the adrenaline wore off. I had gone out to help end the gang war, and I had probably only escalated it.

And the Empire Eighty-Eight probably – certainly – thought I was a member of the ABB. Luckily, my disguise still functioned, the scarf still secured around my false face. Even if it had slipped, it wouldn't help them ID me.

Unless they watched a lot of TV. And thought two reporters – both female – had a child. I nearly giggled, delirious.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Tired," I said, faintly.

He nodded. "Hold up, I've got something for you."

He reached into the open trunk of the lead sedan, and over his shoulder I could see a collection of tools, guns, and duffel bags. He threw something over his shoulder at me. I caught it on reflex, my claws splayed like a baseball glove. My eyes nearly bulged out of my head. A roll of money, a hundred dollar bill on top, wrapped in a rubber band sat in my hand. I carefully pinched it between two claws, and brought it closer.

It was more money than I had ever seen in my life.

"That's for helping out."

I looked back up in surprise. He must have read my body language, and elaborated as he got in the passenger seat of the sedan.

"You saved our asses. Rune would have killed us, and Cricket too. The boss will be pretty impressed. I'll spread the word. Just tell one of our boys you're the stone girl, and we will talk business."

I nodded absently, still stunned.

"Drop on by, then?"

I nodded again, this time jerkily at the invite to a gangster's hideaway.

With a wave, he said something to the driver, and they pulled out in a convoy. I waved back.

I started towards home, gently placing the roll of money in my jean pocket, pushing it in with a knuckle. I might even make it back home before my dad woke up.

* * *

I moved through the silent Docks. The gunfire and light show had scared everyone off, or at least inside.

It wasn't just the Empire Eighty-Eight who thought I was part of the ABB; they thought so too. Or, at least that I would make a great member. On examination, it made sense. They were down in manpower, and aside from their boss, who, admittedly counted for a lot, had no other parahumans. I may not have beaten Cricket, or even drawn, but I had beaten Rune, and intervened in their favor to start with.

They didn't know that I had only done so to keep the odds in my favor. I hadn't intended to support them at all, aside from a temporary alliance of convenience. And now they had paid me for my assistance. Apparently, I was also a mercenary now. Another giggle threatened to break out. I suppressed it. It would look odd for a girl made of stone, hands clawed, glowing green to be giggling.

My change hadn't receded. I could feel it like a second skin, different from my disguise. It was more like an imaginary muscle tensed, compared to wearing a cool suit. Another power learned, or earned. I still hadn't figured everything out yet. My glow finally sputtered down to the dim glow of embers.

I reached the last street that separated the Docks from the rest of the city. I was almost there. Even that curb across the street wasn't part of the Docks.

I tripped. Surprised, I caught myself, claws digging into asphalt. I pushed myself up, and saw the curb was now a few dozen yards away instead of a few. On the curb itself, a girl younger than me, wearing a white and green suit, alternating in wavy lines, with a skirt. Vista. Damn. I burst to her, at full speed. I knew she could change the actual distance between two points, crossing a block in a step, or making a step a mile. But she had no defense. I rushed forward, to catch her before she could get too far away.

The curb was getting farther and farther away. Even at a full, silent sprint I was being pushed back. It wasn't working, and I debated discorporating out of her affected area. I would gain a few yards, and then could take off at an angle- A hand on my shoulder startled me and -

- and I fell back, chained, and covered in a foam-like material. I looked up, and saw my captors, standing in front of a van. The glow of my mark had disappeared. Vista and a young man stood across from me, with two PRT officers aside them. He wore a skintight white costume, with a faceless white mask, decorated with clocks, some moving, others still.

Clockblocker.

* * *

Accursed Fortune 2.7

Oh no. Oh nonononono.

I was caught. I struggled, futilely. The foam didn't give, and I couldn't even hear the chains around my wrists rattle. Only my face was clear.

"She's awake," Clockblocker said. "You can stop moving."

I ignored him, trying to free my arms. I could burn part of it off, but several cubic yards of it? I didn't know.

"It won't do anything, so stop." He added.

Dawn could only be an hour or so away, and with it my dad waking. Would he wake to see my bed empty? Would he have to claim me from the PRT, who would say that 'Your daughter is in a gang, and tried to kill people last night'? Would Sophia be there? She had already tried to kill me before. If I was imprisoned, I'd be an easy find. I didn't have any inner pool, and my outer wasn't even close to full. I had one, maybe two uses before I went glowy or worse, super glowy with a big honking spider announcing to the world where I was.

"Let me go," I pleaded. I could almost feel the foam closing in on my head.

He shook his head. "You need to calm down, and then we can talk. You were talking to yourself back there."

"Please, let me go. I have to go," I repeated, urgently.

"Look, we do need to talk. And the last time you were free, you attacked Shadow Stalker."

"_I _attacked her? _She _attacked me!"

"And we can figure that out afterward. Just sit tight."

Afterward? After what? Would Shadow Stalker be there? Would Sophia take another shot if I was stuck in this foam? I had to get away, away from here, away from them-

I discorporated, Clockblocker shouting in surprise as I reformed with a green glow behind Vista. My left hand clamped like a vice around the back of her neck, and I positioned my right pointing right at her throat. My claws seemed to gleam in the light, the same shade as my fire.

"Stop!" I shouted.

All three of the stopped, Vista standing stock still.

"Stop," I repeated.

"Hey, calm down. If we can just calmly -" Clockblocker said soothingly, motioning his hands down.

"Shut. Up. Here is how it is going to go. You two, PRT officers. Take off your helmets."

They looked to each other.

I scratched Vista's cheek with my left thumb, and she gasped in surprise and pain. Oh please don't push me.

"Do you think I am joking!?" My voice was higher pitched, sounding slightly maniac.

They complied, rapidly. Surprisingly, one was a woman. I jutted my chin towards her.

"You, pick up your foam gun." She complied, picking it up.

I saw the muzzle swaying closer to me as she picked it up, "Away from me!"

"Keep trying, and you will see how long Vista takes to die without a throat. Is that what you want? Answers!"

All three of them said "No," Vista adding a watery one a second later. Oh god.

My voice now eerily calm, I jutted my chin again at the woman. "Now, if you follow my instructions, I'll leave, and let Vista go, unharmed. Woman, foam Clockblocker."

The up-teched supersoaker sprayed an off white liquid, which expanded into a yellow-white foam that engulfed him up to his armpits. I knew that it was resistant to parahuman's powers, and it should keep him stuck as I made my escape.

"Hands too," I ordered. A pair of quick sprays covered them, inflating, turning him into a demented snowman.

"Now your partner, and then yourself. Up to the necks."

As she sprayed her partner, Clockblocker spoke, "You don't have to do this, we just want to talk- "

Another scratch from my thumb, and Vista shrieked. Talk, after they sucker punched me? No. They had finally caught me, and only luck had saved me from encountering a heavier team. He fell silent with Vista's shriek.

"I don't believe you and I don't want to hear it."

The woman finished her partner, and held the gun above her head, spraying down her front, eyes on me the whole time. I nearly shivered at the anger and hate I saw there. Finally, the gun was absorbed into its own spray, jutting out by her head like a flag pole.

"Now, I am leaving. With Vista." She gave a sob at that, "If I see anyone pursuing me, I will tear out her throat with these," I shook my right hand for emphasis.

"If I so much as hear Armsmaster's motorcyle, you can tell Vista's parents that you were stupid, and got her killed. You will not call this in, and then Vista will be found this morning alive. Understand?"

They all stated their agreement, and Vista started crying softly.

I turned, tucking her under my arm, and sprinted in the direction of home. Silent but for Vista.

* * *

Nearly two miles away, I slowed to a walk. Vista had fallen into sniffles long ago.

"Please, you don't-"

"If you be quiet and don't struggle, you'll be fine," I cut across her, trying to be reassuring.

I think I failed.

I found what I was looking for: A dumpster set farther away from the wall. Someone had moved it out, and tagged it with graffiti. I lifted Vista up. "Open the lid."

She complied with shaking hands, and then with a shriek of surprise as I threw her in. I dropped to a squat, and straining, flipped it on to its back, the flaps forced shut against the building. Trash shifted, and Vista shouted inside.

Exhausted, I sprinted away, running on fumes.

I made it home, unseen. The kitchen door was still unlocked, and as I walked through it I shed both my disguise and armor. I nearly collapsed in relief, as the clock showed 5:12 am. On heavy legs, I stumbled into the bathroom. I couldn't use the shower without waking dad, so I stripped, and wiped down with wet toilet paper, removing the dried blood down my front. The dent in my shoulder was a much deeper but thinner cut, and it bleed profusely until I stopped it.

I looked at myself in the mirror. What had I done tonight?

I shuffled out of the bathroom, my feet feeling like lead weights. I dropped my stained, bloody costume in a pile, and kicked it out of sight of the door. I flopped on bed, wearing a towel, and promptly passed out.

CHAPTER TWO: END

* * *

Interlude 2.

A set of teenagers in colorful clothing shuffled into the lobby of the PRT building. Various burns, cuts, and scrapes covered them. They were quiet, not even talking among themselves.

Director Piggot, Clockblocker and several PRT officers met them. Together, they walked, still silent, past a security checkpoint and into a large dome shaped room. The Director strode to a closer alcove, and collapsed into a chair with a sigh. In front of her, the various Wards quietly scrambled for seats in an orderly fashion, leaving a red suit young man standing.

"Aegis, debrief." The Director spoke, gesturing towards the table. Aegis, who's red costume covered the majority of his body, nodded. His face, however, was visible, and the majority of it was covered in burns. He leaned up against the table, and gestured at his throat. A slight discoloration marred his suit.

"Your throat?"

He nodded again.

"Triumph, you will do the debrief then. Now, as I'm sure you are all wondering, Vista is fine."

The subtle tension that had permeated the room released, and the Wards relaxed a fraction.

"We found her in a dumpster, by tracking her phone after we freed Clockblocker and Officers Meloni and Hargitay. Aside from a pair of scratches on her cheek, and being covered in trash, she is fine. Physically."

Clockblocker, at her right hand, slumped farther into his seat.

"Mentally, she is still shaken up. But she is expected to make a full recovery."

She paused, looking at Clockblocker.

"I will say that you two, and my officers, made the right decision with the knowledge you had. And now we have more knowledge about her, and we can count this one as a draw. Had Lung and Hookwolf not drawn every other cape in the Bay, you would have had support right away."

Clockblocker looked up, relieved.

"In the future, do a be a bit more careful, though. You did get very lucky that she didn't attack you. Now-"

The steel door to the room opened with a hiss of air, and Miss Militia walked in. She nodded to the Wards, and leaned against the wall behind the Director.

"Now, Triumph, debrief."

Triumph cleared his throat, and brushed some dust off.

"About the time that spider showed up in the sky, the Protectorate received calls from citizens that some sort of parahuman fight was occurring. We don't know the original participants, but we know it was between the ABB and the Empire Eighty-Eight. At some point, either Lung or Hookwolf arrived first, or they both arrived at the same time. Regardless, they started fighting each other, and as the collateral damage mounted, we arrived on the scene."

He grimaced. "And we were unable to capture Lung; His fire blasts hit Aegis dead on, and Armsmaster ordered us back. At that point, all of us – Protectorate and Wards – focused on Hookwolf. We were able to bury him in containment foam after Miss Militia used a rocket launcher to stun him."

Director Piggot interrupted, "And he was captured – he is in a containment cell right now. Very good, Triumph. It'll be a shame for the Wards to lose you. Now, on to Clockblocker."

Clockblocker, who's head had been in his hands, looked up. He seemed lost for a moment, before he straightened in his seat, and spoke.

"We were on our way to support against Lung and Hookwolf, when we saw a girl walking. She was glowing green – the same green as all of the lights – and most importantly, she had the same mark that Shadow Stalker talked about. A black disk that sucked in light. We called in for reinforcements, and were informed that none could be spared at the moment."

"So, we drove up half a mile ahead of her where she was walking, and laid a trap. I hid across the street from Vista, and when she was halfway across, muttering to herself and looking down, Vista warped it so she had a football field to go. She started sprinting towards Vista, so I followed the plan, and tagged her as she focused on Vista. It was over quick enough that the foam was only sprayed on after she was out and chained."

He sighed. "And then, when she woke up, she started freaking out. Saying that she had to get out, and when I said we had to keep her down because she had attacked Shadow Stalker, she said the opposite had happened. After that, she turned into shadows, and grabbed Vista from behind."

Kid Win interrupted, "So no shadow clones?"

Clockblocker shook his head. "No, only her. My guess is that she did the same stunt right in front of Shadow Stalker, and so she thought that what was a bunch of shadowy smoke masquerading as a human was actually the girl reforming behind her. Also, she was made of stone. Black stone, claws included, from what little I could see of her face and hands."

Kid Win queried again, "So not a Striker/Master?"

"Not that I could see. I'm thinking she shifted her hand into fire, and was able to move it into Shadow Stalker's wound."

The phone in the middle of the table rang, interrupting his explanation. At the Director's nod, Kid Win hit the answer key. "Wards HQ."

"Guys?" Vista's voice answered.

"Vista!" The room answered in a shout. A series of quick looks between the seated Wards decided priorities, and Clockblocker spoke,

"Vista, how are you?"

"Alright, just a little shook up. And smelly." A few quick chuckles, and the room seemed that much lighter.

"We were just discussing the girl's powers. So far we've got the shadow form, made of stone, claws, the fire, anything else?"

"She did flip the dumpster fairly easily. And she ran, fast, even when carrying me."

"Thanks, Vista. We are all really glad you are okay."

"Me too."

Director Piggot interjected, "Same from us, Vista. Now, we will classify her as a Changer 6, Striker 4, Breaker 3, Shaker 1, Brute 1 to start with. We do need a name, however."

"And if she is a villain or not?" Kid Win added.

Clockblocker supplied, "Shouldn't she be, though? I mean, she was coming right from the ABB and Empire Eighty-Eight fight. Her light popped up right there."

Triumph countered, "But we don't know, and for all we know, she could have intervened in the fight."

Clockblocker retorted, hotly, "And grabbing Vista was just a game between friends, than?"

"Or maybe she was upset after getting sucker punched," Triumph snapped.

"Gentlemen." Director Piggot silenced them with a word. "Clearly, we don't have enough information, and we can't make a decision at this time. We won't call her a villain, but we won't call her a hero. I'll make a note of it. Now, name?"

"Eyesore? Landfill?" Clockblocker offered.

Kid Win raised his eyebrows, "I get the first one, but why the other?"

"Because every place she goes, everything dies and turns rusted or bronze."

Triumph snorted. "We can't give her a crappy name after she got the jump on us, right back at us."

"Skitter?"

"No, aside from the giant spider, not close."

Vista mumbled something over the open line.

"What was that?"

She repeated herself, to general agreement from the room.

* * *

ATTENTION: TO ALL PRT OFFICES

PARAHUMAN REPORT:

NAME: DEFILER

REAL NAME: UNKOWN

SEX: FEMALE/?

MEASUREMENTS: UNKNOWN/?

CLASSIFICATION: CHANGER 6/STRIKER 4/BREAKER 3/SHAKER 1?

ALLEGIANCE: ?

HISTORY: (Warning: Information has not been verified)

First appearing post-Event BB-Zero, and currently believed to be the party behind BB-One and BB-Two. Approach with caution, as intentions are unknown, and -

- And at that, was named and classified.

POWERS:

Defiler appears to be able to shift into different forms of matter, so far demonstrating a human form, see below, a smoke form (which allows a form of short-ranged teleportation by rapidly changing back and forth), and a form of solid rock, with added claws.

The claws could indicate the ability to change shape in addition to matter. If so, her ratings will increase accordingly.

In addition, she is able to emanate a green glow, which can increase in intensity to roughly mid-day sunlight, at which point a large bronze shape appears (Current theory- spider. Unconfirmed.)

She is also able to run at peak human speeds for at least 15 minutes, and lift a dumpster with sufficient leverage afterwards.

Finally, she has some sort of short range pyrokinesis. It is unknown if she bypasses the Manton Effect, but entirely possible at this juncture.

[Classified, Directors Only]

Theorized to be the cause of the precog-interrupting effect centering on Brockton Bay.

If so, Thinker rating non-classifiable at this time.


	3. 3: Wyld Hunt

Disclaimer: Exalted is White Wolf's, Worm is Wildbow's (Don't forget to vote.) I'm just playing with their toys.

Wyld Hunt 3.1

My dad's shower woke me up, barely an hour later. I stretched, sore, and almost bit my tongue as my left shoulder protested the movement. I looked at my unclad shoulder, and saw an angry red wound, scabbed. I tried gently moving my left arm and shoulder, and winced at every movement. I had really screwed my shoulder up. I checked my door, and with it closed, I opened my towel. An ugly slash was cut across my stomach, barely missing my original wound.

Oh, this wasn't good. I rewrapped the towel around myself, and, leaning carefully over, pulled some of my new clothes on to my bed. Good enough for now.

My dad was still in the shower, and would probably be so for another few minutes. My eyes drifted over to my ex-costume. I snagged my jeans with my foot, and pulled them to me. I reached down, with a chorus of aches and pains, and pulled them up by the legs. I reached into the pocket, and pulled out the wad of money.

Blood money.

Money I had earned, for a given value of earned, by putting a pipe through a girl my age, breaking bones on a bunch of skinheads, and nearly getting killed by Cricket. I dropped the wad, and standing, regardless of pains, kicked it into my closet. I threw my jeans on top of it, and kicked my hoodie and shirt on top of those. I would deal with it later. I wasn't going to touch it now, and certainly wasn't going to use it.

I heard the shower shut off, and waited a minute. I didn't want my dad to see my injuries - especially the obvious one on my shoulder. I gathered my clothes in my arms, and shoulder burning, held them like a bundle of firewood over my injured shoulder.

The coast was clear, and I moved as quick as I could into the bathroom. I got into the shower, relieved. Soap and hot water stung on my wounds, but I'd prefer not to need my arm amputated because it got infected. My stomach cut started bleeding again, but a quick focus on it ended that. My bleeding-stopper was really an amazing power. Without it, I'd have been dead.

And I had a new power – I had forced my body to change, to shift into what I needed. By rage. It seemed like most of powers were charged by rage. I could feel it bubbling underneath my skin, in time with the beat of my heart. My pool, inner barely replenished, seemed to resonate with it, a wellspring of hate. Was I getting angrier just by using my powers?

I had attacked two skinheads with out provocation. Spraying swastikas wasn't a clubbing offense.

I had attacked an entire group of them, and then nearly killed one of their – admittedly foul tempered and racist – parahumans.

Why? What had I thought I would accomplish? Would they stop spray painting, would they stop being racists? Stop dealing drugs?

Probably not. What had I accomplished? I'd made enemies on the villain side, and then proceeded to kidnap a girl younger than me, hold her hostage, and dump her in a situation nearly identical to the one that caused me to gain my powers. All I had to show for it was a wad of cash and an offer from the ABB. Great job, there. I wouldn't be surprised if was the number one villain on their list now.

And I had gone out to prove I was a hero.

I turned off the shower, and dried myself off. Getting dressed wasn't easy with one arm essentially out of commission, but I managed. Combing my hair with my good arm, I exited the bathroom, heading towards the kitchen. I could smell food, and the night's exertions had left me famished.

"Good morning, Dad."

"Morning." A plate was already fixed, eggs scrambled, and he put the bacon on. "Grab your plate, and could you pour the coffee for us?"

Halfway through pouring it, I paused. "Dad, I don't drink coffee."

He took his cup, and sat down with his food. I joined him, waiting for him to answer, eating my breakfast.

"I thought you might need, with how little you slept."

I coughed, spraying eggs all over my plate.

"W-What?"

"Taylor." He took a sip of his coffee. "When I checked on you early in the morning, you were gone."

I stayed silent, eating, mind blank.

"Taylor, why did you leave?"

"I don't know, I just felt trapped, and I had to get out," I lied, easily.

"You were gone over 4 hours, Taylor," he said, brushing past my evasion.

I didn't have anything to say. What could I say?

"Taylor, why?"

"I-" Started, then stopped speaking, chewing my words.

"Taylor, you can tell me. Please. What is happening? I promise, whatever it is, it won't change that I love you. I can't help you if I don't know what is going on."

That I had chopped off a girl's arm? That I had put a pipe through another? That I was a parahuman now? That I probably had a price on my head from the Empire Eighty-Eight? That the PRT thought I was a villain? That I had been a bully, in an eerily similar situation, to a girl weaker and younger than me? Would he still believe in me? Still care about, still love me? I hoped so.

I swallowed, ready to confess.

"Dad, I -"

The phone rang behind me. He motioned for me to get it.

"Hebert residence."

"Oh, is this Taylor Hebert?"

"It is. May I ask who is calling?"

"This is Officer Harmon with the Parahuman Response Team. We would like you to come in to answer some questions. Is now a good time?"

* * *

Wyld Hunt 3.2

I nearly dropped the phone in surprise.

"Ms. Hebert?"

"Yes. Yes, now is fine." I said automatically.

"Great. We have a car on the way already. They'll be there in a few minutes."

I hung up the phone, dazed.

"Who was it, Taylor?"

"The PRT. They are coming by in a bit."

"The PRT- Taylor, what do they want?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "They said they wanted me to come in to answer some questions."

"Questions about what?"

"They didn't say," I said as a sat back down, eating again.

"Taylor, you can," He paused, "I'll go get dressed, and then we will talk before they get here, ok?"

I nodded, eating mechanically. He left, draining his coffee and setting the cup on the counter as he did so. I kept eating, silent.

What had they found out? My notebooks on the scene, and my blood. They could get my handwriting sample from the school fairly easily, and my blood had also been taken at the hospital. So, they probably did have my identity.

But why call me in? Why not just show up at my door, and blast me with foam? Or even hit me with Clockblocker again.

The doorbell rang, breaking me from my thoughts.

My dad yelled down, "Could you get it? Almost ready."

With heavy feet, I walked to the door. Would they cuff me in front of my dad? Tell him everything right now? I hadn't told him, so how would he take it from their viewpoint? I swallowed as I reached the door, nearly shaking. I opened the door, and two uniformed PRT officers were waiting.

"Good morning Ms Hebert. Is your father home?"

"Yes. He is just getting dressed."

"Good, would you like to wait in the car, or -" The man was interrupted by my dad coming down the stairs, dressed.

"Officers- what is this all about?" My dad asked.

"We just have some questions, Mr. Hebert. If you could come this way," The officer said as he made a waving motion to the car at the curb. The officers held the doors for us, and we got in, a silent ride all the way to the Protectorate Headquarters.

* * *

The headquarters of the Protectorate in Brockton Bay was a renovated oil rig. Of course, that didn't quite describe it. It had changed from a mass of girders and red paint to a white building, with graceful lines and large sections of glass. Around it, a force-field distorted the air.

The ferry out to it was a quick ride, mostly empty, aside from a class of kids. Kindergarteners, probably. Out to visit the local heroes. They might even get to see a villain be arrested.

My dad was still silent, but was resting his hand on my shoulder in a show of support. It didn't help ease my queasy stomach. I kept trying to build up the courage to confess again, but I couldn't do it. Especially not in front of all these people, officers and kids alike. We docked, and were lead into the PHQ. The officers lead us into a conference room, and motioned for my dad to follow.

I almost protested, but I stopped. They hadn't arrested me, so why would they tell him now? What was going on? I sat down at the table, spinning slightly back and forth in the chair. Confused

A man walked in, wearing a suit. He sat down, and offered me his hand across the table.

"Good morning Ms. Hebert. I'm Dr. McGraw, but you can call me Joe. Now, I want to make this clear: This is not an interrogation. We are trying to piece together some events over the past few days, and we could really use your help."

I nodded, and my surprise must have shown, as he chuckled.

"A bit of shock, being invited out here, was it? No worries, we just wanted some help. Can I get you anything, tea, coffee, water?"

"No thank you, I just had breakfast."

"Well then, if you need the bathroom, just ask. Now, can we start?"

"Please."

"Do you recognize this?" He held up a page of my notebook, in a plastic bag with a red label of EVIDENCE at the top. At the header, in my handwriting, was my name.

"That's mine. I lost my notebooks the other day. Where did you find it?" I said, cocking my head to the side as I burnt my entire, though over half-empty, inner pool. My enhancer power had always worked with lying, after all, and my escape power seemed to work with all escapes. If they hadn't made the connection between my disguise and myself, I could play it off.

"At a crime scene. What day did you lose them?"

"Wednesday, I think." I frowned, making a show of thinking. "I don't really remember when. I think I still had them before lunch, but after that, I'm not sure."

"Can you remember anything at all, around lunch on that day?"

I scrunched my face up, then adopted a surprised look on my face. "No, nothing at all."

He nodded, and asked, "About what time do you start remembering?"

"The bathroom, right as school got out."

He made a few notes on a small pad, and then stood. "Thank you for your help, Ms. Hebert. If we could just ask one more thing of you?"

"Yes?"

"The Director would like to speak with you, briefly. Would that be okay?"

I nodded, surprised. The Director of the PRT might as well be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. The Bay was easily in the top 10 Protectorate and PRT stations.

"Great, she will be right in," He said, over his back as he left.

Not a minute later, the Director walked in. She was a heavyset woman, with a bob cut. Behind her, Armsmaster followed, minutely slouching. Tired, if my guess was correct.

"Good morning, Ms. Hebert. I'm Director Piggot, and I am told you have already met Armsmaster."

"Good morning. Dr. McGraw said you wanted to talk to me."

"That's correct," she said, sitting down. Armsmaster sat to her right, leaning back in his chair.

"Over the past few days, we have had several incidents. I'm sure you noticed some of them."

"The lights," I ventured.

She nodded, and elaborated, "Actually, those are just some of the more public ones. Several altercations have occurred, between involving both heroes and villains. Is there anything you know about these past few incidents?"

"Nothing. Why?"

In his seat next to the Director, Armsmaster readjusted himself.

"In a moment. Is anything in this file familiar?"

She slid a folder over to me. It read on the parahuman Defiler, headed up with a picture of me in my rock-form, with a slice of Vista showing in the edge of the picture.

"Defiler? Isn't that a villain name?"

"If you read the history, you will see she hasn't exactly been a hero."

I made a show of reading the file, all three pages of it.

"No, I don't know anything about her."

In his seat, Armsmaster shifted again. Piggot nodded in response to me.

"We wanted to talk to you, because this Defiler seems to be following you, or at least tangentially involved with you. We believe her triggering could be connected to you as well. Her stealing your notebooks is an example of the connection."

She pulled an envelope out of her briefcase, sliding it over to me. I held it up, eyebrows up.

"And this is?"

"A letter. To Defiler."

"Why give it to me?"

"Because we have no way to contact her directly, and you are our best connection to her at this point. And, what it says is, that we want to meet. We realize that things have gotten off on the wrong foot, and we wanted to apologize. I, and along with Miss Militia for a guard, will meet her. Alone. No officers around the corner, no Wards waiting to spring out. Sunday at noon, where she fought Shadow Stalker."

"Why tell me?"

"So you don't have to read it, and in case she asks you."

"I don't even know she exists-"

"And, all I am saying is, just leave it out on your dresser. Or give it to her if on the off chance you see her. Tell her if you meet her."

* * *

Wyld Hunt 3.3

My dad was in the gift shop, buying something, as I exited the conference room. Director Piggot followed me, and walked over to my dad, hand extended as he exited the gift shop.

"Mr. Hebert. Thank you for coming in, and you have a very bright daughter."

My dad, whose state of being was always appearing bemused, broke records. "Thank you. Glad we could help."

"A car will be waiting for you at the ferry. Stay safe."

With that, she walked away. My dad, motioned me over to the door, and we exited the lobby, taking a hallway down to the terminal.

"I got you a shirt. Alexandria is still your favorite hero, right?" He pulled out his purchase, a blue shirt with Alexandria, a different pose than my old red one. And without multiple cuts, and not soaked in blood. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't know if I even had a favorite hero any more. Especially when money couldn't be easy to come by, with a hospital stay recently.

"Thanks Dad. Still my favorite," I said, giving him a one-armed hug as we walked down the empty hallway. The ferry was waiting as we entered the terminal, and we were out on the bay even before we reached our seats. The motion of the boat was hypnotic, so much so that I woke up to my dad gently shaking me as the ferry docked. Two new officers met us, and I woke up again as we pulled up to the house.

I went straight to bed.

I slept till sunset, and felt like a new Taylor. Aside from the ravenous hunger. The smell of pork chops wafting into my room drew me out and to the kitchen. My shoulder felt funny, but I could see how it was healing after supper.

My dad was over the stove as I walked in. I felt a pang of guilt; usually we switched off cooking. I had been neglecting that duty. And I'd been a pretty big burden on him these past few days. Not even a week since I had gotten my powers. And on Sunday, I could tell him. I promised myself, I could then. I might even be a Ward. But, I wouldn't be a villain, and I could tell him. I smiled, actually smiled, and felt relieved.

"Evening, Taylor."

"Dinner smells great, Dad."

He turned, still working on the pork chops. "You sound much better. I guess you needed the sleep."

"I'll probably still sleep all night," I replied.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

My mood dropped. I didn't want to before my meeting with Piggot, "Can we wait till Sunday evening? I promise, everything will make sense then."

The kitchen was quiet, barring the sounds of meat cooking. My dad put a plate in front of me, pork chops and mashed potatoes. I ate, waiting for him to respond.

"Christ, Taylor. I was really worried about you."

I finished chewing, and said, "I'm sorry. But I promise. Sunday would be so much better. It will make a lot more sense then."

He ran his hand through his hair. "Okay. Because I trust you."

I smiled at him, "Thank you Dad."

"And I'll call your school on Monday to explain away, this."

I lied, "The officer who called me said they would do it."

"Nice of them."

We chatted about inconsequential things, and I helped with the dishes. I sat on the couch, watching the news until my dad went to bed. Only speculation on me, still.

* * *

My shoulder was bronze. Or, more accurately, my divot was filled with bronze. My scab, along the edges, had worn away, revealing heavily patinaed bronze beneath it. I touched it, and it was warm to the touch. It even flexed a bit as I moved my arm.

Weird.

I checked my other wounds, and they were still scabbed, and very sore. I really hoped I didn't turn totally bronze. I'd have to use my disguise power constantly. Not good. Using up half my inner or even a chunk of my outer at all times wouldn't cripple me, but it would lessen my options. The Wards might actually help there.

I clicked the switch, and went to bed, dreaming of a green sun.

* * *

Sunday morning dawned, and my dad's shower woke me, better than any alarm. I had spent most of Saturday asleep, again. I pulled my T-shirt off my shoulder, and looked at it. Bronze. I lifted my shirt, and my stomach had a bronze slash across it, that didn't stretch quite as easily as flesh. Better than a cut.

I started breakfast, and halfway through my dad's shower turned off. He walked in, just as I was putting french toast and bacon on a plate.

"You're up. I thought I'd have to drag you out, come Monday."

I smiled, in a good mood. "No worries. I'm alive."

As he swallowed, he said, "Thank you for making breakfast. A nice treat."

"You're welcome."

"So, since you are up today, I assume you have something planned?"

I shrugged. "Just the library. Probably leave in an hour or so. I've got a lot of work to catch up on, and I'd like to get started."

"Going by yourself?" He asked.

"Yes."

He nodded, thinking as he ate. "Okay, but be safe. And call from the payphones every once and a while. You have enough money for lunch?"

I had plenty. I didn't need to take it from him. "I've got a ten in my pocket."

"Okay," He said, half to himself, half to me. "And we are going to talk about everything, tonight?"

I nodded, leaving the kitchen.

Costume, repaired with thread, in a plastic bag, check.

Pools full, check.

Change for a phone, check.

I took a deep breath. Here went, well, everything.

I left from the front door, heading to the library.

* * *

Wyld Hunt 3.4

I made it to the library right after it opened at 8. I had a few hours to kill, and then I would leave early to check out the meet. I didn't want to get ambushed again by Vista and Clockblocker; regardless of what Pigott might have said, I was going to be careful. But hopeful.

The library was empty – literally empty – except for the staff. In my mental notebook, I put a check mark on Sunday. Good day to come to the library for research. I took the farthest computer station, and sat down. I could leave around 10, and that would still give me two hours to look at the meeting spot, find some exits out of the area, and then search the area, in case of Piggot bringing non-agreed upon back up.

Parahumans Online had a stub on me. Defiler was only listed with a power rating, and a much hazier picture, with Vista cropped entirely out of the frame, then the one I had seen in the file. The heroes' insurance policy? If you don't get on board, I'd get a villain page? Pretty effective. I didn't want to be a villain, anyway. I had my own forum topic, too. Mostly people speculating on who I was - in relation to other capes, not my actual identity.

They had better give me a different name if I joined the Wards. And that was one of my two options. That, or stay independent. But I needed to talk to the heroes to clear the air. Otherwise, I could bet on them coming to hunt me down.

Nine O'clock. Time to go.

* * *

I went to the payphones across the street, at a gas station. My dad picked up on the second ring.

"Taylor?"

"Hey dad, just checking in. I'm getting something to eat at the gas station, then going back in."

"Thank you Taylor. Call me in a bit." And with that, he hung up, and I walked away from the gas station.

I headed to the Docks. I stopped in an alleyway, at the edge of the Docks, and pulled out the letter. I looked at it, vaguely impressed. It was fancy paper, heavy, and even had a seal on it. They really wanted to impress me. Of course, they had already tried to, even when they had thought I was only peripherally connected to Defiler. If I could get away with not illuminating them to that fact, I would.

I changed into my costume, noise wrinkling at the smell. Even a heavy wash hadn't completely got the smell of blood and sweat out of it. I got dressed, carefully, and stuffed my clothes into the bag. I put the bag underneath a dumpster, scratching an X into each facing with a sharp rock. I only kept my keys.

I opened the letter. It even had an official letterhead.

To: "Defiler"

From: Director Piggot, PRT.

First, I would like to apologize for the misunderstandings between us so far. Our Wards are very tense, and as I am certain you know, a large fight was occurring at the same time as your altercation with them. In their haste to move to assist their comrades, they made a mistake in attacking you. You can be assured, that was not our intention.

I would like to meet with you, alone. I will bring one guard, Miss Militia, who has the power to create weapons. I will bring no others, and if you wish it, will not be privy to our conversation. I suggest the meeting time for this Sunday, at noon, where you fought Shadow Stalker – the Ward who used crossbows and could change into shadows like you.

If this is not acceptable, please contact us, in any way you can, and I will be happy to accommodate a meeting.

Signed,

Director Emily Piggot

Parahuman Response Team

I think that answered whether they were serious or not. The early morning shadows in the alley rose around me.

* * *

Even this early on a Sunday, the Dock's semi- and illegal economy was going strong. Men and women exchanged small packages and brown bags for cash, and under dressed women, while not as prevalent as I thought, were still a presence.

"I don't have it!" A woman's yell caught my awareness, and I looked. Under the alcove of a building across the street, a man and woman were arguing. He looked, well, like a pimp. He had a fur coat – fake, surely – and gold jewelry. I paused, bemused at the stereotypical outfit. And then he slapped the woman, full across the face.

She fell to the ground, hands to her face. She didn't have nearly enough clothing covering her legs for this early on a January morning. "I don't have it! Help!"

He pulled a knife

"Stop yelling! And empty, huh? Then I'll take it out of you."

I could just keep walking -

"No- Please, no! I swear, I swear I'll be good!"

Damn it.

I couldn't stand by and let this happen. I spotted, and scooped a rock of the ground, and my inner pool shrank slightly. The rock arced through the air, and popped him right in the kidney. He yelped in surprise, dropping the knife. He turned, and yelled at me.

"Who the fuck do you -" He stopped, growing pale. "Shit!"

With that, he scampered away, looking back over his shoulder, leaving me and his victim. Me, bemused, and his victim, stunned.

"Are you alright?" I asked her.

"Who are you?"

Huh. Still no good name. "Defiler, I guess. It'll change, soon."

She sat up, and muttered to herself, "Now where am I gonna get my fix?"

I assumed it was a drug, and left. What else could I do?

* * *

I reached the site, by my approximation at 10, or possibly a bit later. No one was there yet, and I got to see what the PRT had done. Sections of concrete had been cut out, and even bricks were missing from the walls. The area where my blood had misted out was completely missing. I debated going down stairs to investigate, but it would probably be the same. Nothing to learn here. I started my search pattern.

Curling out in ever-widening circles, I spotted no one, until I spotted many.

Coming up the street, in broad daylight, were capes.

I recognized one of them, very easily.

Cricket.

* * *

Wyld Hunt 3.5

Oh. Damn.

I ducked behind a building. Miss Militia and Piggot would probably be arriving soon, and would walk right into a trap. That could be interpreted as my fault, or worse, as my trap. I silently ran around the backside of the building, backtracking, and looked at backs of the capes.

Cricket, I knew well.

The other two I only knew of from my research. Stormtiger could shoot blasts of compressed air, and Crusader could make ghosts of himself, which he could use to fly. Or, the perfect two people to attack me. Stormtiger could possibly blow me away when I was in shadow form, and I couldn't hide very well from someone who could send ghosts after me.

They really weren't happy with me. Damn. And too many for me to fight, even with favorable conditions. Thursday night had not been a good night. They hadn't appreciated my interference. Of course, I had nearly killed Rune.

Rune. I looked up, searching for her. Nothing yet, but that didn't mean she wasn't searching as well.

I could take off my scarf and hoodie, but I would still have the dark jeans on. I was disguised with the same face as when I had attacked Sophia, but I didn't know if it was different enough from the face I had worn Thursday night/Friday evening. I had reddish hair instead of bright blond, but would it be enough?

I didn't have any other choice. I had to get them away from the meeting area. They were only a few hundred yards away, and heading almost directly towards it. I would attract attention, take off the hoodie, and double back. I sprinted towards them, grabbing a rock as I skidded to a stop, inner pool emptying and recharging simultaneously, and sent it flying straight at Crusader's head.

"Who the fuck- Get her!"

I was already sprinting in the opposite direction the moment I had released the rock. I reached the building I had seen them from, and took the alleyway. An explosion blew the wall apart behind me. Maybe not the greatest plan, but the only one I had. Crusader would fly after me, and try to keep tabs for the slower Stormtiger and Cricket. Or, land bound, at least. He could track me fairly easily. So, he was the only one I needed to incapacitate. Once he couldn't relay my position to Stormtiger and Cricket, I'd be free to sneak by them, and meet Piggot.

I looked over my shoulder, trusting my power to keep my balanced. I could see Crusader held up by a pair of his ghosts, barely above the roof tops. Perfect. I turned, rushing back towards him. A ghost flew over my head, aimed at the spot I would have been, arms spread wide. So, their plan was to capture. He swooped down further, two more ghosts forming, and charging me. I emptied my inner pool in response.

His ghosts reached me as I discoproated, and I saw his eyes widen as I slammed both of my heels into his chest in a devastating double kick. We fell together, and in the few yards I had, I grabbed him. He landed, and I landed on his chest, stunning him further. His ghosts went wherever they went when he lost, dissolving into thin air. Well, maybe not ghosts. Force-fields of some sort. But gone now. I turned, and sprinted back down the alley, inner pool partially refilled. I really needed to work out had that worked.

Further behind me, another building grew a new hole, as Stormtiger blew through it, and stumbled upon Crusader. Probably not now the time to work on it, though. He yelled something to Cricket, who responded in kind. I saw an open door way on the building to my right and front. Perfect.

I ran the length of it, and turned into it. The door on this side wasn't open, but the window was. I turned into to shadows again, slipping through the window. I could feel my mark appear, faint. But I had also gained more in my inner? Not the time, not the time.

I sprinted down the length of the interior of the building, stripping my hoodie off as I went. My scarf followed, and I folded them into a tight a package as I could. I slipped it under my shirt, like I had an odd belly, and looked outside. Clear. They must still be chasing shadows.

I went to the corner, and peeked around into the alleyway, and I saw Cricket follow my path to the window and door. Perfect. I sprinted across the gap between building and dilapidated lot, and the width of the lot to a street. I slowed to a walk, and headed to the meet spot.

"Fucker!"

I moved on reflex, and a dumpster slammed into where I had been walking. Rune, standing on a slab of concrete, was surrounded by an even dozen rocks and slabs of concrete, at least 50 feet in the air. A set of six were sent flying to me, bracketing me with five, and the sixth dead on.

Damn. My inner was all but out, and I couldn't dodge all those even with an enhancer. I discoporated, the rocks missing by a few yards. I could feel my mark solidify on my head, and the green glow burned like a torch. I sprinted to the side, only to skid to a stop. Stormtiger, trailed by Cricket was coming that way, out of the building I had gone through. I turned back to face Rune.

Another half of her collection of rocks were arcing to me, directly from her. I didn't have enough in my inner to dodge, and I couldn't go full bore, super glow-

I grinned. I didn't _need_ to stay stealthy, did I? The PRT wanted to meet, and Miss Militia would be standing by. If they were sincere, they'd help. I dodged forward, rocks passing through the shadow of myself, as I burned my outer pool.

The titanic spider rose from the sea of shadows on the ground around me, and I felt my skin harden, growing thicker. My shoulders burned, and two leathery wings exploded out of my shirt, ruining the back. I took to the air, straight at Rune, the green light around me outshining the sun.

* * *

Wyld Hunt 3.6

Rune plummeted like a rock, surprised. I followed, and grabbed her by the neck. She beat on my arms with her fists, but I didn't feel them at all. She felt what I did: She was too heavy to fly with, so I glided, and released her. She slammed into the edge of a building, falling into an open dumpster. I beat my wings harder, gaining altitude. Stormtiger was forming some sort of hazy claws, and I dived away in a evasive maneuver. The air rippled in a line where had discharged his claws. I landed on a roof, out of his sight.

The glow sure wasn't though. Another explosion hit the front of the building I had landed on, showering the air with bricks and dust. I flitted to another building, moving slight off of the direction to the meeting spot. I didn't want Miss Milita to get ambushed, after all. Of course, I was half-giddy as well. I was _flying_. Sure, my wings didn't exactly look pretty, but I couldn't have everything.

I turned at the sound of another explosion, and saw the first building I had landed on begin to collapse. They were catching up. That took second priority, as further away, I could see two woman grow two stories above the surrounding buildings. Menja and Fenja. Two I probably couldn't hurt at all. As they got larger, they not only got stronger, but attacks got even weaker. I doubted a train going full blast could hurt them at full size.

I took off again, flying, shadows trailing me. I didn't want to mess with them. If I floated up here for a bit, I could hand off Piggot's letter to Miss Militia as she arrived on scene, proving my bona fides, and tell her I wanted to reschedule. I went in for another landing, and nearly impaled myself.

A thicket of metal had sprouted from the edge of the roof, and was reaching out to me. I flapped, hard, and barely managed to escape the hooks, barbs, and spears questing for my flesh. I regained altitude, and looked down. Kaiser. Was the entire Empire Eighty-Eight after me?

I circled, and glided down and away, thinking. This was a bit too hot. But Miss Milita should only be a few minutes away. Or, if they hadn't shown up yet, much farther away. Damn. It was looking like I'd have to flee and let my light show die down. Further away, Menja or Fenja tripped. Or, at least I thought she did. One moment she was striding towards me, the next she was falling sideways.

A blast of fire at the same spot solved that query; Lung was here too. Her sister turned to help her. I flew over, previously unused muscles tiring. Lung, barely scaled, was slamming one of the sister's shields repeatedly into her own face. I glided down to a rooftop behind the building I had run through. A burst of air broke a dozen yards over my head. At least I was further away from Kaiser.

Movement further down a street caught my eye. Three dogs the size of vans – full size vans, not mini vans – were running down the street towards me, each with a rider, and the one trailing with an extra. Who the hell were they? I took off, again. I didn't want to exhaust my wings; I had the feeling I was going to need the ability to fly to get out of this mess. I looked for a new place to set down and think.

Of course, coming perpendicular to the new arrivals was a mess. A vehicular mess, that looked like something a three year-old with a soldering iron put together out of toy cars. A shimmering haze formed behind some debris to its side, rapidly glowing blue. The debris shot forward, directly towards me. I closed my wings, dropping, and reopened them, losing half my altitude. The trash shot right over my head, and I skidded to a stop on a rooftop.

That had to be Squealer, a tinker, and she was with the Merchants. Was every villain in the Bay here today?

The boom-boom-boom of a gun being rapidly emptying grabbed my attention. I took off, dodging a trash can this time, and beat my wings as hard as I could. Miss Militia was emptying a shotgun into Kaiser's back, to no effect. She dodged the metal poles that sprouted from the walls around her, and her shotgun turned into light, forming an assault rifle. The rapider, higher pitched shots slammed into Kaiser, to not much more effect. He ran though, taking a pot shot with a shark's fin of metal that missed Miss Milita by several feet.

I dove to her, waving my hands desperately. I didn't want her to think I was a new cape, or an enemy. Or to be shot from the sky. She looked up as the light intensified, and waved the rifle to me, before rolling. A blast of air blew the spot she had been standing into a cloud of dust. She stood, and walked backwards, shooting methodically. I could see Cricket, Stormtiger, and Kaiser near her, with Stormtiger being kept around a corner by bullets whizzing past him. Two more capes I didn't know, but who were clearly with the Empire Eighty-Eight were moving around Miss Milita.

I swooped down, and her weapon dissolved back into light, holstering into a sheath as a knife. She held her arms out, and I wrapped mine around her, with an "Oof!" on both of our parts. Breathless, I flapped as hard as I could, and she clutched my waist.

"How many?" She shouted in my ear.

"A lot," I yelled back, hoarsely.

I landed on the rooftop behind Miss Militia's attempted last stand, glow dying down to a bonfire. Air exploded behind us, again.

"I saw two more Empire Eighty-Eights, aside from those three," I wheezed.

"Night and Fog," She said, as she caught her own breath. "Next roof!"

I grabbed her again, as more explosions rocked the building. A quick flight, and I set her down on the lip of the rooftop. Miss Milita turned, and blasted away with a shotgun, forcing the Empire Eighty-Eight capes to stay back. All five of them stayed out of the alleyway as she sprayed lead into it.

"I can't keep them back; they're going to flank us."

"Rocket launcher?"

"Too many people around – Look out!"

A dark haired woman in a suit had just stepped out of a building, right next to Cricket.

* * *

Wyld Hunt 3.7

Cricket took a swing at the woman, sword angled to cut her neck.

The woman stood aside, and pulled a skinny knife out. She stepped in, and with a quick jab to her ribs, the knife sunk to the hilt, followed by a slash across the throat. Cricket was down.

Stormtiger turned, and loosed his claws, the doorway behind her blowing apart under the pressure. She merely leaned to the side, and slashed his left wrist. As he clutched it, she closed, slamming the hilt of her knife on his mask. On the opposite side of the building, Night and Fog ran forward, Night throwing a grenade. A knife pierced it in mid-air, and it spun back, not going off. Fog discorporated, somewhat like I did, but instead a mass of mist that could eat anything. Kaiser pushed himself out of range of the suited woman with metal poles.

A slice to Stormtiger's stomach, and he loosed his claws again, right into the charging Fog. He screamed, blown back to reveal Night, who stumbled slightly, as if she had been running faster. A knife sprouted in her chest, and she stumbled again.

The woman in the suit turned to us, and clearly said, "Go!"

She then, with a flurry of quick stabs, gave Stormtiger three new holes.

Miss Milita grabbed my arm, pulling me across the roof. I wrapped my arms back around her, and sprinted into a take-off. With tired flaps, I made more of a powered jump away. We landed 50 yards away from the fight, and we could see a collection of metal collide with the building we had been standing on.

"Who was that?" I asked Miss Militia.

She shook her head, and her clutched shotgun became a rifle. "More."

The trio of dogs were crossing rooftops with gigantic leaps, and jumping down into the streets and back up when they couldn't go across on the roofs. They bypassed the fight between the Empire Eighty-Eight and the suited woman, and came straight at us.

Or at least until the rear dog stumbled as well. I'd make a bet that it had gained a knife in a foot. I heard someone screaming profanities in response. It skidded to a stop before it could jump, and limped to the side. Miss Militia brought her rifle to her shoulder, aiming at the two closing dogs. She relaxed, and her finger pulled the trigger. And missed, by a mile, as she suddenly jerked her rifle to the side.

"Master! Or Stranger! Move!" She shouted, pulling me again.

Once more, we took to the sky. Except, my arms spasmed, and Miss Milita fell from my grip. I dived, grabbing her by her outstretched arms, desperately pulling her up. And my then left wing flexed the wrong way, dropping us both into an ungainly roll across the ground.

Her weapon, which I thought she had dropped, rematerialized in her hands as a shotgun once more. "Go, you can fly. I'll buy you time, and pick off as many pursuers as I can."

"But-" I tried to argue.

"Go!"

I dug into my jeans pocket, past my keys. I pulled out the slightly crumpled letter, and gave it to her.

"So she knows I want to meet. I'll call-"

She grabbed it from my hand, stuffed it in a pouch, and shouted, "Go!"

I ran, further away from the dogs, and took off behind a new building, staying low. The sound of gunfire was suddenly muted, and tears formed in the corner of my eyes. I kept low for a full minute, before pulling up sharply, the glow around me dimming. Where Miss Militia had been was a patch of darkness, and two monster dogs limping around it. The third was still on the rooftop farther back, but was lying down, as the Merchant's hideous mass of metal rumbled to a stop nearby.

The top of it swiveled, and with dawning horror I realized I was looking at a turret, with a very large barrel. I felt more than saw the tongue of flame, followed by the _BOOM_ as it sent a mass of metal at me, which exploded into a dirty cloud of shrapnel above me. My wings furled, I dived, straight to the ground, heading for my hidden clothes.

I landed with a wince, ankles hurting at my sudden stop. I pulled my clothes from underneath, and took off once more, heading due south, to the Boardwalk. I couldn't do anything more.

* * *

I landed in a junk yard, not a mile from the Docks. No junkyard dogs, at least. I shucked my wings and thicker skin, and changed back into my clothes. I hid my costume, in its bag, in a formerly bright red car, now rusted and windowless. Still a redhead, I tried to leave from the gate.

Locked. Damn. I started searching. A section of a re-bar was adequate, and burning with green fire, I struck the top of the lock. The entire shackle burnt away, as my mark returned to full glory, a black disk. I scampered out. I needed to find a payphone. And get home. Today had not worked out as expected.

"Dad?"

"Taylor, coming home?"

"Yeah. Right now."

"I can pick you up at the library in a few minutes. Save you the walk?"

At the payphone, I cursed silently. Could I make it there in five? Probably not. Of course, he could look inside the library, and then I could say I couldn't find him.

"Sure, see you there," I said with false cheer, and hung up. I walked away, tossing my costume in the trash can in front of the gas station as I vacated the premises. I sprinted once I was out of sight, my disguise melting away, needing to get to the library as soon as possible.

Sweaty, exhausted, and pools empty and half-empty respectively, I arrived at the library in only 407 Mississippis. My dad's car was in the lot already, and I rested against it. My new Alexandria shirt felt odd, not being full of holes and my own blood. I wiped my forehead, and went inside, straight to the woman's bathroom. I cleaned up in a minute, wiping my face. I left the bathroom, and went to the circulation desk, followed by the computer stations.

My dad was there, waiting for me. He gave me a smile, and we walked out.

* * *

Wyld Hunt 3.8

"Get some work done?" My dad asked, glancing over at me, as we stopped at a red light.

"Not really," I admitted. "Not as much as I would have liked."

He didn't reply. The light turned, and we started moving again.

"Taylor, are you happy?"

I frowned, "What?"

"It's just that you seem so different. Over the past week, ever since..." He trailed off, clearly not wanting to speak of the locker.

"I don't know. I'm just reacting to my circumstances, I guess."

"Taylor, when you went out the other night-"

I grimaced, speaking quietly, "I don't really want to talk about that now, Dad. Things haven't worked out quite right. I wanted to talk to someone first, but I couldn't reach them."

"Taylor. You know, if anything is wrong, you can tell me. I'll say it again: whatever happened, it won't change how much I care about you. I'm your father."

In silence, we pulled up to the house. Walking in, I replied, "But this is important to me dad, and I don't want you thinking less of me. If I can just talk to..."

I paused. I certainly couldn't say the Director, "a certain person, everything will be straightened out. Right now, it looks worse than it is."

We entered the kitchen, and he leaned against the counter. "Taylor, is the trouble with the police?"

Not precisely. "No. It's more personal."

"The bullies, then?"

Somewhat close. I nodded.

"When will you talk to this person?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to the library. I'll talk to them there."

He nodded, "So tomorrow evening?"

Relieved, I nodded back. "Tomorrow evening."

Plenty of time to find a payphone and talk to Piggot. She knew I wanted to talk, and Miss Militia had backed me up. We could come to an arrangement. Relieved didn't begin to describe it.

* * *

I laid on the couch, flipping through channels before dinner. My dad was making some sort of pasta, which sound amazingly good, after this morning and no lunch. I stopped on the news, needing information.

"-and thank you for that piece, Diane. We are all glad that Dovetail was there. After the break, we will bring you breaking news on today's fight in Brockton Bay."

Commercials. Time to think. The Merchants, Empire Eighty-Eight, and the four people on three dogs had all been gunning for me. Lung hadn't come to aid or attack me, but had focused on the E88. The woman in the suit had helped Miss Militia and I, and Miss Militia had clearly been on my side. Why, on all accounts?

The Empire Eighty-Eight attacking me made the most sense. I had done serious damage to Rune, and interfered in their ongoing war with the Azn Bad Boys. Attacking me made sense from a strategic and propaganda prospective. Couldn't let any small fry get big ideas about attacking them. Of course, I had taken Crusader out, and Rune again. They might try even harder, now.

The Merchants were proof that powers went to everyone, regardless of background. Drug dealers and pimps, they generally only used their powers to secure supply of said drugs, and hold onto whatever territory was left from the ABB and E88. Why they had attacked me, I couldn't fathom. Unless I had some sort of bounty on my head, but who would have put it out?

The dog-people were unknowns. I suspected the darkness generating cape was Grue, the only known cape in the Bay with those powers, but the dogs were definitely outside of his scope. And, whoever had used that ranged electrical power that had knocked Miss Militia from my arms, and then temporarily ground me. One possible known, and three unknowns, with only vague descriptions of 'Dogs' and 'Super Taser.'

Lung had clearly just been there for the E88, specifically Kaiser. If he took Kaiser out, the Empire Eighty-Eight might fragment, leaving him with an enemy in the middle of a civil war, while he could rebuild from the drumming he had been taking over the past week.

Miss Militia had probably been sent by Piggot to extract me, or failing that, talk to me. She hadn't tried to shoot me, after all. And she might even still be alive. I had left her behind with villains, but would they kill a hero? I really, _really_, hoped not. She had sacrificed herself to buy me time to escape.

And last but not least, who was the suited woman? She had annihilated the Empire Eighty-Eight capes with ease. The only one I hadn't seen her take out of the fight had been Kaiser. And Lung, at that point, was probably coming up right behind him. Was she an independent cape?

I rubbed my face. The commercials were over, and it was time to see what everyone else had seen of this afternoon's, scuffle.

"Tonight: Trouble in Brockton Bay. A new Triumvirate on the horizon? And Endbringers, what you need to know."

The montage of reporters looking at the camera, at papers, or talking among themselves played and ended, along with the muzak.

"Good evening, I'm Gary Cooper -"

"And I'm Hallie Shea. In breaking news; This afternoon's enormous fight between the major villains in Brockton Bay."

"Very big, Hallie. Both of the biggest gangs in the city, the Asian Bad Boys, and the Empire Eighty-Eight, were present, along with two other groups of villains. On the scene, Miss Militia, and an unidentified independent cape, managed to capture several members of the Empire Eighty-Eight, several injured quite severely."

"So far we have confirmation that the villains Stormtiger and Cricket have been captured, which, along with Hookwolf earlier this week, could signal the beginning of the end, for one of America's largest white supremacist gangs."

"Good on Miss Militia and the unnamed there, Hallie."

"I'll have to stop you there, Gary. This just in: the PRT has released limited information on the unidentified independent cape. Name of Defiler, a confirmed independent cape, reported to have a shape-shifting ability. At this time, they have not answered any questions whether she is a hero or villain, or whether or not she is related to the reported precognitive outages, worldwide. We go now, to field reporter Elliot Hirsch, at the Brockton Bay headquarters. Elliot?"

"Taylor? Dinner is ready."

My stomach gurgled in response, and I had an enjoyable, but mostly silent dinner with my dad.

* * *

Monday morning, and my wounds were completely bronzed over. I stretched, free of aches and pains. I felt good. Back to school.

* * *

Wyld Hunt 3.9

The shower felt good, especially with skin that wasn't tender or broken for the first time in almost a week. Hot water in wounds wasn't pleasant. But my new metal skin wasn't as sensitive as my actual skin. Was it permanent? I hoped not. I'd eventually get enough scrapes alone to turn into a golem. I'd have to be more careful getting injured. Towel around my midriff, I walked back to my room, combing my hair, working on tangles. I had gotten quite a few, not taking care of myself the past week.

I got dressed, still using my purchased Salvation Army jeans. When my dad knew about my change, he'd probably be happy to spend a bit on some better fitting clothes. And he'd be happy to know, too. My new Alexandria shirt, replacing the one I had thrown away, went on top. I wasn't happy with myself for that. It had been one of the last things I had connecting me to my mom, and if I had time, I might even look through trash cans this afternoon.

I started breakfast again, and timed it a bit later. My dad came out, bathrobe on, and opened the refrigerator. He poured us both orange juice, and chatted about the previous day's fight. He had caught some of it on the news, and we both agreed that the Empire Eighty-Eight was in dire straits. Neither of us were sorry about that.

"Didn't they say it was just two who took all them down?"

One, actually. We just got the credit. "Miss Militia and the other one," I replied instead.

"Neffler, or something?"

"Defiler," I corrected.

"That was it. Ready for another week?"

Finishing my plate, I nodded. "Ready for a normal one."

"Me too."

* * *

I bundled up with a sweater underneath my jacket; it was pretty cold. The car wasn't much warmer, and the weatherman said the cold snap was supposed to last all week. Not a time to be out in tights. I'd stick with jeans, or heavier pants, for my caping. The ride to school was quick, and except for my remaining notebook shaking in my shivering hands, uneventful.

"So, pick you up from the library around 5, then?"

I thought. Plenty of time to get to the payphone – in a disguise, of course – and talk to Piggot. I'd just have to convince her secretary, if she had one, that I was the real deal. I wouldn't be surprised if she had gotten plenty of crank calls, already. I'd even have time to go looking for mom's shirt. Torn and bloody, it was still valuable to me.

"Perfect. I'll be glad to get this off my chest."

"Want to go out for dinner, then? A treat would be nice after the past two weeks, wouldn't it?"

Money was tight, but if worst came to worst, I still had that roll in my closet. I'd prefer not to touch it, but circumstances dictated actions.

"Sure. We'll talk over dinner."

He nodded, smiling. We pulled up to the curb, and he said, "See you at 5. Have a great day."

"5 at the library," I confirmed. "See you there."

Emma and Madison were chatting in the hall, but I blew right past them, not even giving them a glance. I thought I heard something behind me, but I kept walking. They seemed so insignificant compared to Nazis trying to kill me.

The first class out of homeroom was Computers, and both were with Mrs. Knott. She gave a surprised start at seeing me, and waved me over to her desk.

"Taylor, its great to have you back."

I nodded, still somewhat resentful over my 'altercation.'

"Well, I'm glad you are feeling up to school this week. I've collated all your homework, reading, and classwork from your teachers. Do you want it now, or at the end of the day?"

Surprised, and a small bit touched, I said, "End of the day is fine. Thank you."

"It wasn't a problem. I thought you might need some help easing into school again. Now, you can take the computer period as a free one. The advance class, which you tested into, already has an assignment, but you can't start it with out the reading."

"Thank you."

I spent the class on the cape wiki. The dogs had to have been from Bitch, PC name Hellhound. I was surprised they didn't try Heckhound. She could turn dogs into those slavering monstrosities, and had a laundry list of crimes committed, starting from when she first triggered.

The suited lady turned up nothing. All I got were capes who wore suits, as in superhero suits, and a few odd ducks who actually wore suits, but none of them matched her looks or powers. A totally new cape, then? She was pretty powerful if she could win against that many other capes. Even I would have to be much more circumspect dealing with that many.

My page had expanded from a stub. Defiler, independent cape. It was also locked, unable to be modified without a mod's approval. Turns out, getting on the national evening news got some attention. Several forum pages complaining about the lack of information, speculation on me, my powers, and very gross things. Things that they shouldn't be saying about a kid. Squicked, I went back to the discussion of my powers. The official page just had Shapeshifting, and then nothing else. No mention of limits or preferred forms. I closed the browser as the class ended.

Off to history.

* * *

The lunch bell stopped me from drifting off. It was a close thing. Without books, I wasn't caught up, and was paying the price. I'd have to do some heavy studying to catch up. Greg, one of what I could loosely call acquaintances, had shared his books with me in class, but it wasn't the same as doing the reading. I stood, grabbing my notebook, making a beeline for the cafeteria, slipping through the flood of students as best as I could. No Emma or Madison in this class, so I should've gotten there before them.

Emma and Madison were standing at opposite ends of the doorway, blocking me from the cafeteria. In front of them, a crowd of quietly muttering students had formed, held back by whatever powers being a total backstabbing bitch gave you.

"So you finally showed your face again." Emma said, with Madison next to her. Behind her, I could see Sophia pushing through the lunch rush in the cafeteria to reach us. Great. Reinforcements arriving. I hadn't seen her all day, and she pops up now. Figures.

I walked through the doorway, pushing past Madison's elbow with ease. I could hear a hissy fit starting from Madison. Behind me, I heard Emma say, surprised, "Sophia?

"Taylor." Sophia said loudly, practically vibrating. Whether from anger or what, I didn't know, and I didn't care. I ignored her, but the room quieted further at our little drama. I walked to the lunch line, determined to give them nothing.

To my back, she said, louder still, "Or should I say Defiler?"

* * *

Wyld Hunt 3.10

I froze. The room froze with me, falling deathly quiet.

"Surprised I know?"

I burnt some energy from my inner pool and replied, "Surprised you are so crazy. Next, I'm sure you will out Emma as Alexandria."

No one else spoke.

"Crazy, maybe. But the PRT knows who you are."

Resisting my instinctual, 'What!' was hard.

"Of course," She said, waggling her arm – arm!- "I do have a grudge. You burnt off my arm."

"I burnt off your arm? That one, right there?"

"Uh-huh. Panacea, remember?"

I ignored her, moving down the line, staring at the lunch lady. She stared back at me. I lifted my tray, along with my eyebrows. She passed over a plate, mechanically. I slid my tray along.

"Ignoring me? Alright. Later, then. I'm just going to go tell your dad about you burning my arm off."

The tray slammed to a stop. The food, charitably called slop, fell off the plate and on to the tray.

I cracked the plastic rim of the tray in my hands.

"Too bad about your mom. I could tell her, but, I heard you killed her."

I turned, swinging my fist at her face. My knuckles collided with her cheek, and she staggered back. My followup swing to her stomach passed right through her as she turned into her shadow-state. She moved back, returning to her normal form.

"Well, I'll see you around, Defiler. Off to your dad."

I sprinted at her, silent as the room, fist cocked back. She met me with a kick to the side of my gut, and the breath exploded out my lungs. Collapsing to the floor, I skidded into a table with a wince. With a variety of shrieks and murmurs, the lunch crowd dissipated back to the edges of the room, and the attached hallways.

"Worthless _cunt_! I've been wanting to do this all week."

Catching my breath, I stood back up, furious. It didn't hurt, much, but that had surprised me. I didn't think she had a crossbow, but I couldn't beat her in a fist fight. I'd have to keep her here somehow. Even ten minutes would be enough, if I could buy that much time.

Fuck her. _Fuck her. _She was taking my dad from me. He'd hear about this before I could even talk to him. After everything I had done to break it to him the best way, and now this. And the PRT knew who I was? Had they told her? Were they just waiting to grab me? Just had to incapacitate her, and I could beat her to my dad, at least.

Fuck. Her.

"C'mon, Hebert. Or Defiler. At least if you put up a fight, I'd feel better about losing an arm to a little bitch who killed-"

I discorporated, reappearing to her side, hands together over my head, bringing them down on her head. My hands ignited, matching my anger, green flames haloing my fists. I snarled, "Burn."

My hands passed right through her.

"Nice try, but you can't pull the same fucking trick on me twice." She said, reforming from her shadow state, and punching me in the jaw.

I flinched back, instinctively. But it hadn't hurt, much. I leaned back forward, my fist glowing green as I returned the favor. Nothing. Again, the shadow state. I expected it, but it still surprised me when she slammed her elbow into my back, flooring me. That one hurt.

"That's it? The only reason you burnt me last time was luck."

A kick to the ribs as I was on the floor.

I couldn't hurt her, head on. Her shadow-state was invulnerable to anything I had. Anything any cape I knew had. Maybe Eidolon or Mryddin could hurt her, but I didn't have tenth of their abilities.

I kicked out to where I thought she was, and she tripped. My follow up heel to her face only phased through her. I pushed myself off the floor, away from where I suspected she would be. Behind me, I heard her foot come down where my head had been. I was so fucking angry. Everything, I had done, for nothing.

I led her to the back wall. I could feel hate simmering under my skin, ready to erupt. It was a feeling I knew well; impotency at being forced into a sub-par form. It was how I had gained wings and stone. But this, this was something more. I could assume the form I wanted, the form that expressed my rage.

I walked back, keeping her in view. Behind me, I could hear students rushing out of the way of our fight, away from the wall. Good. This was special, just for her. She looked at me backing away, and pulled a knife from her jacket. Her eyes showed nothing but hate for me. I responded in kind. I'd show her how much hate I had. She charged me, knife held low. I sprung my trap, twisting on my heel.

A wave of green flame, accompanied by a green flash expanded from me, and I knew she would go shadow. Shrieks of surprise came from the audience. Not now. I sprinted forward, straight at the wall, shoulder held low.

"Missed-" Sophia was cut off as I checked her, shoulder into her stomach, right into the wall. My shoulder, which had grown correspondingly larger to my now 20-foot tall frame, made of stone. We blew right through the wall, and I slammed her into the ground. Cinder blocks pinged off my back and wings as they fell down, sent high from the force we went through with. Around me, a green light blazed, pulsing with my heightened heart beat. The cloud of dust around us settled, showing Sophia at my feet.

"Fucking finish it, then." Sophia whispered, her chest caved in, limbs splayed. She looked like a broken bug. I turned away, horrified, reality crashing down like an icy wave. I had done that.

"Do it, damn it!" She hissed, never rising above a whisper. Coming from the hole in the cafeteria wall, students carefully stepped over broken cinder blocks, staying back. I could see Emma, pale, hands to her mouth. Sophia was dying. Had to be, with that much damage. I turned, walking towards the Docks. I had to find my dad. They'd call 911.

"Oh – I wonder what will happen," Sophia whispered, then spat blood, "If I attack your dad? Will Defiler stop playing around then?"

I stopped.

"Oh, you got mad again?"

She wouldn't attack him – what was I saying? She just outed and tried to actually kill me. No contest on that, this time. She would, wouldn't she.

"Still can't do it. It's fucking embarrassing that I lose to you."

I inhaled, green light dimming to a barely perceptible glow. I faced her, exhaling. A stream of hungry green flames rushed to her. Sophia barely had time to shout her surprise, before she was consumed with a roar.

Screams followed me as I flew away.

* * *

I dug a divot in the yard with my landing. It's pretty hard to see through tears. Stone shattered and blasted away from me, burning and scaring the lawn. I emerged, naked. My keys were gone, so I burnt the doorknob to slag, and kicked the door in. I didn't even bother stopping, even as I felt my feet pierced by splinters. I sprinted up the stairs to my room, dressing as I picked clothes out.

Hopping on one leg, the other stuffed down a jean leg, I pulled the ABB's wad of money out of the back of my dresser. It went in my pocket, along with various sundry change I had. I couldn't stay. Everyone and their uncle would be coming for me, and by extension, my dad. Better to think we had cut ties. To think we weren't close, that attacking or kidnapping or harming him was a fruitless approach. I stumbled down the stairs, forcing my feet into a pair of older sneakers. A grocery bag of clothes was thrown over my shoulder.

I pulled a knife from the carving block, and slashed it across the table, burning my words into it. Knife melted down to the handle, I dropped it below my slashes. I could hear sirens, coming closer.

I fled.

CHAPTER 3: END.

* * *

Interlude 3

The chair in the meeting room was designed to be comfortable. Thick, plush, and fancy. Danny Hebert was uncomfortable. He shifted, as the TV, facing him, talked about his daughter again.

"-and we still have not received an ID for our source, but the video does have an official stamp. As you can see in the video, Defiler, now known to be Taylor Hebert, the villain who killed the now outed Shadow Stalker, holding Vista hostage. We don't have audio for this video, but as you can see, she does scratch Vista twice. In addition, we can see Vista crying as she-"

Click.

"Mr. Hebert?"

Danny stood, turning. Director Piggot had walked into the door, along with a cape. A cape everyone knew. A tall, muscular man in a skintight blue outfit, with a white laser-like decal on his front. Legend. Director Piggot shook his hand, and said, "I'm sure you've seen him before, but this is Legend."

Danny shook Legend's hand, not saying anything.

"I'm sorry we couldn't meet under better circumstances, Mr. Hebert."

Danny nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He sat back down, and Legend and the Director took seats opposite him. The Director slid a folder over to him. He opened it, and saw the header. Taylor Hebert/Defiler. He looked back up, not wanting to read it.

"Your daughter's file, Mr. Hebert. I suggest you read it, before everyone else misinforms you. Those are as close as we can get to the cold hard facts."

He read it. Things that had made no sense now made plenty. Why his daughter had been so aloof. Going out at strange hours, and coming back exhausted. Why she had been so desperate not to tell him. And why she had wanted to wait to tell him. For one single moment, Danny was glad Annette had passed on. This would have killed her.

His daughter, a murderer. A villain. He closed the folder, looking at Director Piggot.

"I want to start off, and say I am sorry, both for what you are going through, and how we have failed."

"I failed," Danny said, voice thick.

"Not alone. We made errors in judgment dealing with your daughter, and someone took advantage of those errors to prevent us from contacting her. As you saw in the file, yesterday, numerous villain groups just happened to be in the area to intercept either your daughter or myself. We do not believe these actions are a coincidence."

"Today, however, was a series of linked actions that resulted in Shadow Stalker's death. Shadow Stalker had been confined to quarters, due to her involvement in your daughter's kidnapping, followed by an unauthorized possession of deadly weapons. As you saw in the file, Shadow Stalker and Taylor fought last week, over unknown reasons. Due to her relationship with Shadow Stalker, we can't discount going after her for revenge, but we do believe that Shadow Stalker inflicted the first blow."

"This morning, Shadow Stalker, still confined to quarters, read your daughter's combined file from her room computer. Not only did she somehow gain access to files she shouldn't have been able to, her room received a phone call from a pay phone in the Bay. The caller used codes that only a handful of people know, in this building only, and bypassed every security measure. Not five minutes after the call ended, Shadow Stalker left the building."

She paused. "At which point, she went to your daughter's location, and provoked a fight. Contrary to what the news has speculated, we are certain your daughter did not start harassing her. However, she did choose to initiate the fight itself, and then, once Shadow Stalker pulled out a knife, crippled her. Shadow Stalker was down, probably dying."

Danny turned away. But she kept talking. "At which point, witnesses disagree. Some say they heard Shadow Stalker say something, others don't. We don't know. What happened after, however, we know. Your daughter exhaled a large amount of fire, and Shadow Stalker was consumed. We recovered a severely damaged corpse."

He nearly shouted at her, angry at everything. At his daughter, at Shadow Stalker, at himself. He'd always been angry, but the past weeks hadn't helped his temper. But she was just trying to help. Instead of ineffectually shouting, he asked, "How did she find out Taylor's identity?"

"We had it. The letter I had given to her, when both of you came in, to give to Defiler had a tracker and camera built into it. Armsmaster built it to see if we could gain intelligence on Defiler, who had been exceptionally cagey. When your daughter opened the letter, it triggered the camera, which then recorded her changing shape. At which point, we updated her file. But I stress again, only a Director of a team or higher could have had access to it. We are still investigating the catastrophic breach in security."

"So a Director gave my daughter's ID to her then?"

"At this time, we don't believe so. Whoever tried to interrupt our meeting on Sunday is the most likely culprit. He or she is responsible for sicking Shadow Stalker on your daughter."

Legend spoke up, "Yesterday, after we realized that a third party had been purposefully interrupting any attempted dialogue with your daughter, both myself and Alexandria came to town. We wanted to talk to her, especially about her future. Most of her actions indicated she want to be a hero."

"Unfortunately, I doubt we will be able to." The Director added.

"Why not," Danny stated.

"Washington and the media. Both have classified her as a villain, and everything I have told Washington has only raised their backs. And whoever leaked that video to the media didn't have either ours, or your daughter's best interests at heart. More than likely, whoever was also behind Shadow Stalker and Sunday. And I understand Washington's intransigence. National news is calling her a villain, and nothing we say can change that at this time, without serious costs."

"Cost! But she's not a villain!" Danny snapped, slamming his palms on the table.

"No," Director Piggot agreed. "I don't believe she is. But my hands are tied."

"So she will have heroes after her, now?" Danny asked, deflating.

"No," Legend interjected. "Internally, we are calling her an independent cape, and forwarding that to the Guild and our other allied organizations. And, trying to reestablish contact. If she keeps on the same path she set out on, engaging only gangs and villains, we can bring her in, effectively redeeming her, in a hopefully short period of time. Which is the final reason we called you here. Any method of contact you have, or if she contacts you, would be helpful, to her."

Danny remember what he had seen, in his kitchen, right before the PRT officers had escorted him here. He had covered with a table cloth, not wanting anyone else to see Taylor's message to him.

On his table had been four words, burnt into the top.

Cut ties. I'm sorry.

A/N: Lawlz. Couldn't help myself.


	4. 4: Ochre Fountain

Ochre Fountain 4.1

I could feel it on the tip of my tongue. Something that was still eluding me. It had been so close, right on the surface of my thoughts. Right when I shifted, my form changing. I rested my face in my palms in frustration. Of course, the surroundings weren't very conductive to thinking.

The sound of a truck going 65 down a highway. The constant noise of wind. I was resting on the upper level of a truck hauling cars. Easy enough to get onto, and somewhat hidden from prying eyes and the elements. It was still cold up here, though. My bag of clothes was in between my crossed legs, and I could feel the wad of cash in my pocket. I'd count it, out of necessity, but it'd just fly away up here. My face was probably public knowledge by now, along with all the other faces I had assumed. So instead of a girl, I looked like a boy. Shorter, chubby, and brown haired. Bland and ignorable. I had also figured out how to disguise my clothing, which resulted in brighter jeans, and an open jacket over a t-shirt that said 'Female Body Inspector.' A perfect disguise.

The sign on the opposite side of the highway read Providence – 140 Miles. Almost to New York City or so. Another hour, at least. I had gotten onto this truck as it was filling up at a gas station, so I should be good until I got there. I'd have to find another one to ride, or possibly some place to sleep. It was already mid-afternoon, and while the sun helped a bit it was very, very cold. Maybe it was penance.

Sophia was dead. She had threatened my dad, sure, but I had killed her. I could still hear her horrified shout, the realization of her oncoming fiery death. Worse, I had felt good after I did it. It felt _right_. My stomach shifted, nauseous.

Were my powers affecting me? The rage I kept drawing on, using to fuel my powers. Was I controlling it, or was it controlling me? I didn't know. The roadside switched to more buildings than trees. I was getting closer to my destination. Well away from the Bay. What would my dad think of me now? I hadn't explained my powers. I had been to afraid of his reaction, his disappointment.

I could be certain he was more than disappointed now.

Houses became strip malls before becoming two story or higher buildings. The highway split, and the truck took it, curving. I held on to the bumper I was leaning against, locking my legs around my clothes. Another few minutes, and the truck took an exit ramp. Keeping one hand on the bumper of the car behind me, I grabbed my clothes. Time to get off. Maybe the truck was at its destination. Or maybe another trucker had signaled this one that I was riding on top.

I waited, and we stopped at a stoplight. I dismounted. The car I nearly landed on honked at me, and I moved purposefully through the two other lanes, moving back onto the sidewalk. Now I only had to find out where I was, what I was going to do, and where I was going to stay. My stomach, no longer nauseous from my navel-gazing, reminded me that I hadn't eaten since morning either. Lunch had been interrupted, after all.

Clutching my bag to my chest, I looked at my options. Fast food wasn't cheap, but neither was a restaurant. Going to a grocery store at this point was counter-productive: I didn't know if I would be able to store food, and I really wanted to sit down in a comfortable chair, with warm food and a heater. So, cheap and plentiful. Time to ask the locals.

I saw a woman, standing alone and smoking a cigarette while leaning against a bollard. Not very well-dressed, but not shabby either. Perfect. I walked to her, asking, "Excuse me ma'am, I-"

She took one look at me, at my shirt, and scoffed, "Pig."

With that, she stubbed her cigarette and walked away. What? Oh, the shirt. Good for making a disguise no one would ever associate with me, but bad for conversation. I only had a smidge over half of my inner pool left, so I wasn't going to change now. With the way today was going, I might need it very soon. Time to try again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time I found someone willing to answer my questions, and a place that met my expectations, it was growing dark. Several hours of walking around the Bronx, where I now found myself, had yielded an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. Fifteen dollars later, and I was now eating my third plate of decent, but hot food. A pot of hot tea was a welcome side benefit. I was already on pot number two. And the heater in the buffet was the cap on the trifecta.

I sat near the TV, watching. It was set to the news.

"-and once more, here is the cell phone video of Taylor Hebert, aka Defiler, changing shape to attack Shadow Stalker. Again, we must warn you, this video is extremely violent."

Sophia charged me, knife drawn. My face was twisted in anger. I saw the wave of fire erupt from me, melting all the tables nearby. Sophia went barely visible, sliding around me. Above me, for one brief second, I could see the bronze spider forming, before it dove into me, spinning a cocoon of brass thread. The cocoon lasted but an instant, before it dissipated, revealing a glimpse of me tackling Sophia through the wall. The video shook, both in the aftermath of my hit, and the owner's movements as he or she ran right to the hole we had exited through.

I saw myself on TV, easily towering over twenty feet tall, made of black stone, vaguely humanoid. My wings, made of stone instead of leathery flesh, were easily forty feet across. They looked kind of like bat wings. Massive claws bigger than swords adorned my hands, and over my entire body, faint green characters could be seen, pulsing with my heartbeat. My eyes and mouth flickered with green flames, and the black disk adorned my brow.

On TV, the video showed me turning, and the writing that adorned me dimmed, becoming invisible. I let out a stream of fire, which immolated whatever had been behind me. Screams could be heard in the background for a moment, followed by a blast of wind knocking the cell phone's owner over as I took to the sky.

The anchor came back on, "At this point, authorities are considering Defiler to be extremely dangerous. Any sightings should be reported immediately."

I stood, draining my cup of tea. Time to go. I needed a place to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My overpriced purchase for the night was from a seedy motel, a room with a bed stained with who knows what. I cringed even thinking about it. I had countered the middle-aged clerk's request for ID by more than doubling the price, sliding a hundred dollar bill across the counter. I was now registered as Benjamin Franklin.

I counted out my bills and change. I still had over 1500 dollars left. Enough for a week and change at my current rate of expenditure. Not enough to live forever on though. I'd have to get more money, with no idea how to do it. A hot shower, probably taxing the tiny water heater, helped me relax a bit. I'd find a library, and do some local research. After breakfast of course.

Exhausted, I wrapped myself in the frayed blanket and went to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ochre Fountain 4.2

I had a brief moment of panic, waking in an unfamiliar bed. Barring my own, and a few times at Emma's house, I had never slept outside of my own bed. Panic slumped to sadness. Another hot shower helped me wake up. I'd start needing coffee with how early my mornings had become, and would likely stay.

I stuffed my clothes in a pillowcase to keep them out of sight, and used a plastic bag to keep the pillowcase dry and clean. For all I knew, I had been reported leaving my house with said bag of clothes. Besides, I had more than paid for the pillowcase with my bribe. I brushed my teeth with my finger, and flicked out the light in the bathroom.

The lights back on, a skinny, red-haired man looked out of the mirror, sunken cheeks and sparse facial hair. Thicker clothes than I had on too. I left my rented room, pillowcase slung over a shoulder.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Coffee in my right hand, croissant and the trim of the pillowcase in my left, I walked the streets of New York City. I didn't know where a library was, but I had asked around for an internet cafe while I stood in line for my breakfast at a coffee shop. I drained the rest of my coffee, and stuffed the remnants of the croissant in my mouth as I entered the cafe.

Mouth full, I negotiated for a computer with hand gestures. $10 for a computer for an hour seemed both expensive and cheap, but beggars couldn't be choosers. I sat down after spending a dollar on a bottle of water from the vending machine. I could save the bottle, and refill it from sinks. Hopefully, potable water from sinks.

I decided not to look at my page, or even the news. I didn't want to know right now, and at the moment, it wasn't critical. What was critical was figuring out my competition. My possible captors and chasers.

Legend ran the local Protectorate, which had a dual function as the HQ for the entire Protectorate. Legend could be thought of as a flying artillery battery, shooting lasers without regards for the laws of physics. Curving, freezing, forking, you name it. If he was a bad guy, he could wipe out cities. On a personal note, he was widely known to be gay, and had turned the gay-bashing from the 60's into open acceptance. Probably smart when the guy with a rainbow flag could possibly blast you into the next timezone. He led over a hundred capes, just under his purview. I checked behind me. No printer. Damn. I'd go buy a notebook to write this down in.

Jouster was in charge of the local Wards, and was best described as a knock-off Chevalier. Both could play with their weapons, but while Chevalier could change his cannonblade into something the size of a supertanker, Jouster could only utilize energy blasts, applied at touch range. Not to say he wasn't effective. Observed effects included freezing touch, igniting touch, and _disintegration. _Thirty or so Wards were in the city.

A dozen independent heroes rounded up the side of good. The villainous side was both much larger, and more important to me.

Several major gangs had evolved with the use of powers, and still held a predominant position in the criminal underworld. The Mob was at the top, rumored to have nearly as many powered people as there were heroes. Three ethnic gangs, similar to the ABB; the Latin Kings, the Bloods, and the Crips were on the second tier of criminal gangs. Lots of unpowered in addition to a deep roster of powered. At the bottom of the pool were pure-powered or majority powered groups, a half dozen, including such luminaries as the Adepts or Teeth. The former were 'magic users', or so they claimed, and they were led by a self-proclaimed time traveler. They had 15 stated powered members, still a hefty amount, comparable to the Empire Eighty-Eight. The latter had shown up in Brockton Bay before, and could best be thought of as wanna-be Slaughterhouse 9. The better part of a dozen capes, and a bevy of unpowered.

A lot of enemies, but it was the biggest city in the US, and one of the biggest in the world. And by far the wealthiest of similarly sized cities. Especially without Tokyo on the roster anymore. But it still had its problems. Drugs, prostitution, rampant arson and thievery, both from supervillains and from regular criminals. Gang wars occurred, injuring or killing innocent bystanders. A place I could do good, even with my powers. I just couldn't get caught.

No giant fire breathing Taylor then.

The Bronx, where I had stayed, had two of the local gangs fighting for control, in a larger version of the E88/ABB fight. Both the Latin Kings and Bloods were challenging each other over territory, and several buildings had been burnt down, possibly by a cape. Perfect.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sun was only two hours from setting, by my guess. A burrito had served as a late lunch/early dinner as I watched this location. I had bypassed it at first, and then looped back around. Nothing else nearby appeared to be a better bet. Lots of young men, and a handful of young women, all wearing the color red. Red for blood, I supposed. My pillow case was hidden behind a low wall not a hundred yards from here, underneath some plywood. If I had to make a quick escape, I didn't want to be slowed down.

Several cars pulled up to the milling gang members, and more got out. Most prominently, two of them were dressed not in red like the others, but in what could be charitably be called a costume. One had orange flame markings, both on his red shirt and blue jeans, and the other had a black flame marked out on his red jacket. My eyes burned – and I tasted/felt their powers in rapid succession.

While Orange Flame had nearly scorched my tongue like chugging a bottle of hot sauce, Black Flame had a more smoky taste, almost making me gag on the feeling in my throat. I almost gagged at the unpleasant sensations. Still, both of them were weaker than me, and I couldn't help the feeling of contempt my survey brought.

Fire based powers. A surprise.

Black Flame smacked one of the women in red, laughing. She didn't say anything, but moved back towards him, after picking herself up off the ground. Orange Flame tossed Black a paper bag, which he removed something from. An assemblage of plastic baggies, with something white within them. Drugs, I assumed. Time for investigation.

I crossed the street, hands in my pockets. Right in front of me, a trio of red-clad gang members were talking, with expansive hand gestures.

"Hey," I said, twenty feet away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ochre Fountain 4.3

"Fuck you want?" Tall said, the two other red clothed members turning with him, arraying at his back.

I spent some of my power, my bullshit enhancer activating. I scratched at my cheeks and upper neck, and looked back and forth, checking the street. "My fix, man."

"Money, bitch." Behind him I saw the Flames go inside, followed by over half the gang. One of Tall's associates held out a small plastic baggie, with white powder in the bottom. He shook it in my general direction.

I held out a five.

He grabbed my extended bill, and pushed me back. "Fuck is this? Bring back real money."

I stumbled back, and left, muttering under my breath, glancing over my shoulder as I walked. The trio had gone back to laughing.

I went back to where I hidden my clothing, and pulled it out from underneath the plywood, before using it as a pillow. My disguise released, falling away into my shadow, and I pulled a scarf out, wrapping it around my face. A quick nap to recharge, and for it to grow dark.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I woke up to daylight. I must have slept all the way through the night. It sure explained why I was so damn cold. I got up, and saw the moon over head.

What.

I pushed my bag back underneath the plywood, rolling my shoulders as I stood. Surprisingly, I wasn't sore from sleeping on plywood. My full pool seemed eager, too. I had that feeling I was missing something again. The connection between things and my powers. Things I couldn't quite grasp. I walked to the gangs last location.

The cars from earlier this evening were still there. Either they had spent the night, or there was a new Endbringer out and about, tentatively titled "The Goddamn Moon". Or in what seemed to be the more likely case, I could now see in the dark. Not just see in the dark, but see everything like it was high-noon. Half the street lights were out, and I could read the plates on the cars across the street. I checked up and down the street, and walked to my find. I crouched down, looking at the date on the paper. Still Tuesday the 17th. I could officially see in the dark. And read a newspaper in the dark.

I stood back up, looking at the building the gang had entered. Three stories, the bottom's large storefront boarded up and covered in graffiti. The upper two stories still had lights on, and I could hear music coming from inside. The rest of the street was nearly abandoned, with only a few of the buildings having any lights on at all. The few that did only had a solitary light or two at most.

I discorporated, moving through the shadows. Almost had it. The feeling of making a connection, of understanding was so damn close. I looked back up at the lights. No one noticed me, especially here, with the nearest street light several dozen yards away. I crouched, running my hand through the shadows, which to me, were as bright as day. It wasn't a disguise power, or my quick 'change and not get hit' power, but it was so damn close.

I paused. I burnt the remainder of my inner pool, scraping a bit from the outer. Perfect.

My body had become shadow, not for a brief instant, but holding steady. I moved, a snake of shadow across sidewalk. I found a chain link fence and passed through it with ease. I reached to my face, and pulled my scarf off, watching as my arm solidified into its proper shape, before returning to flickering shadows after I tied it back on.

I couldn't help my grin. So cool. And something I could use, right now. Something I could use to put a halt to something, even if it was only a tiny victory. Something I could be proud of, my dad would be proud of, my mom would be proud of. I sprinted across the street, avoiding the pools of light. I was a silent wave, and I bounced as a stream of shadows, on to a car, an awning, and finally the roof next to my target. I slid across the roof, skirting the lights put out by windows. I slid down the wall behind the buildings, and found what I was looking for.

The breaker box. It was unlocked, and painted bright red. I opened it, and flicked every circuit breaker off. The music inside cut off, and I heard muffled yells. I tore out each and every one, cradling them in my arms. I snaked away, and dumped them behind a set of trashcans.

Back to the building. I passed the breaker box at its back, and turned, coming down a alley that opened onto the street. I could see a flashlight illuminating the gang's cars. I slipped silently down the alley, but paused when I saw the door on the side of the building open and a cone of light hit the opposite wall. My heart nearly stopped, and on instinct, I hid behind a line of trashcans, a flat surface, eyes barely peeking out from behind them as the red jacketed man past me by while cursing to himself. Ok, so light is bad.

Easy enough. The door was closed, but it didn't have weathering on the bottom. I slipped underneath the door, flat as paper. I saw a hallway, and to my right was a large kitchen. I could tell by one stove burning a ball of flames about the size of a cantaloupe. More flashlights, too. I shot underneath a metal table in the middle of the room, reforming into myself on the crossbar.

"-taking him so damn long?"

"Because he's fucking stupid."

A shout from outside was audible, and I heard the burner clicked off, the smell of burning gas ceasing as the two men with flashlights left, heading outside. I guess they found out about the lost circuit breakers. I slipped through the building, navigating with ease. It might as well have been perfectly lit, for my eyes. The bottom, which had clearly been a restaurant, was decorated with a spray paint mural, and trash was scattered all over. The layout hadn't changed at least, and back in the hallway, I snuck up the stairs, a bouncing stream of shadows. A reverse slinky, almost.

I reached the landing, and heard low voices. I peaked around in to a room, eyes not an inch off the floor. A large TV dominated the room, and the couches and boxes (milk crates, on second inspection) were occupied by the vast majority of the gang. The smell of food, alcohol, and some sort of chemicals blasted out of the room. Faint lights, lighters and pipes of some sort, briefly illuminated the dark, and ruined their night vision. Looking at cell phones, or using them as ineffectual flashlights didn't help either. A quick scouting of the floor revealed rooms full of beds, or even bunk beds, and lockers and trunks scattered around as well. Rooms for the peons, then. I ascended to the third floor.

It was a much larger space. It could be called a loft, if I was using the term correctly. Hung sheets, bookshelves, and half-walls separated the top story into a very large living room, and what I assumed were two bedrooms. A pair of couches set into an L were occupied by Orange and Black Flame, along with three girls. Girls, not women. If I was accurately reading them, they didn't particularly want to be here.

Especially with those two groping them, and trying to stick their tongues down their throats, even with the power out. Sounds from a battery operated boombox covered the rather unpleasant noises. Well, I'd give them something to take their mind off that. I slipped into one bedroom, right underneath a sheet. A pair of mattresses stacked on the floor worked for a bed, and several dressers faced it, along with a goodly collection of shoes.

I was tempted to do something there, but soon spotted a better target. A large black trunk lay open. Rolls of bills, along with paper bags like I had seen earlier occupied it. A single handgun was in the corner. Hmmm. I stripped the bed of its pillows, and had a brief moment of bemusement at the flowery pillow cases. Then I took them off, and stuffed the money in one, and the paper bags full of drugs in the other. I repeated my action in the next bedroom over, ending up with a half-full bag of money, and two full pillow cases of drugs.

I slid downstairs, carrying my finds on my back. It was a very odd feeling, being a length of shadowy sludge, going downstairs. I made it to the bottom, and peeked into the kitchen. No one had come back yet then. Several bottles of alcohol, clear to brown, were on the far counter. I set the bags of drugs next to them, and pulled a dirty pot over. I poured several bottles, marked with larger numbers in, and then put it on the burner. I could hear talking outside, and rummaging in trash cans. I pulled a box of matches to me, running out of time.

I dropped the bags of drugs into the partially filled pot, and turned every burner on, wincing at the heat and light. The latter seemed to burn me more than the heat. I slid to the door, opening it for my getaway. Moving back to the stove, I lit a match, and flicked it into the pot. The alcohol ignited, and the light burned me. I barely restrained a scream of agony as the light tore at my shadow flesh. Right, light bad. Shouts from upstairs reminded me that it was time to go. They would have heard and smelled that.

Grabbing my bag of money, I fled as a whip of shadows across the alley and street.

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Ochre Fountain 4.4

I nearly tripped as I went from a river of shadows flowing along the ground, to Taylor sprinting across dirt, but I didn't, and kept running towards my bag of clothes. Over my shoulder, I could see the faint glare of the fire I started. Well, at least those three girls on the couch wouldn't be stuck there anymore.

I grabbed my pillowcase bag, and ran. The faint sound of sirens alerted me to incoming fire trucks. Quick response time. Probably from the recent reports of a cape lighting fires. Whose den of villainy I had just lit on fire.

I stopped, catching my breath a full two blocks away. My scarf was still around my face, as I didn't exactly know if I was on the most wanted list or not. I really should have looked. I'd remedy that in the morning. I needed a place to hole up, count my spoils, and then count my coup. Easily 10 pounds of drugs destroyed.

Bags in hand, I spotted something good enough. A dilapidated building. It's windows were broken, and a corner of it had fire damage. I peaked in, easily seeing in the pitch black interior. A pile of rags looked like a person, but far enough away that I could leave without interference if I had to.

I scooted into a nook, facing the fire-made hole in the wall. I dumped my cash bag on the floor, as I quietly as I could, and started sorting. Dollar bills in one pile, all the way to hundreds at the end. Much fewer of those. A quick shuffling, and I had neat stacks, but probably temporary without rubber bands to bind them together. I peeked out of my nook, and saw no one, still. I had gained nearly six thousand dollars, quintupling my funds.

All for one nights work, plus whatever damage I did to the gang's supply. Not bad.

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I was checked into a new motel, this time as Ulysses Franklin. The clerk wanted extra, and I wasn't up to arguing. Of course, I was also undisguised. If he wanted extra money to forget me, it was well spent.

On the way to the new motel, I had picked up some food. Curled up in the blankets, I methodically ate the mediocre tv dinner lasagna. The TV was on, showing the news. So far, the PRT had been fairly mum on me. But the Director of the PRT, Director Costa-Brown had called me a villain in a press conference earlier today. I suppose a Ward being outed and then killed by a relative unknown would result in a quick hammer-drop, media-wise.

Worse yet, my dad had been ambushed by reporters. They played the clip again. He was pale, drawn, and had PRT officers escorting him from an unidentifiable building. The reporter shouted questions at him, such as;

"Did you know your daughter was a villain?"

"Are you in contact with her?"

"What can you say to Shadow-Stalker's parents?"

All of which he answered with a simple 'No', but the last question hurt him the most, I think. I switched the TV off, as they were going to play it again. Not what I wanted to see.

I finished my meal, tossing the empty tray on the bedside table, and curled up, thinking.

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The door opening woke me up. I nearly fried whoever they were. I was expecting a cape, from either side to barge in and let loose. Instead, I got the cleaning lady, maid, or whatever they are called, who snapped at me, "Check out was at twelve!"

I jumped out of bed, stuffing my feet into my shoes. My bags were all ready, and pools full up again, I left, brushing off her dirty look. I'd overpaid anyway. I was still in the Bronx, not three miles from last night's encounter. I should find some food, and think there.

Of course, it would have been nice to know that not only did my dark-vision not turn off, it came with a significant downside. As I stepped outside, I winced. The sun might as well have been a few yards from my eyes for how it blinded me. Covering my eyes with my hand, and switching the pillowcase so that one hand held both bags, I left the motel's lot.

It was very, very hard to see. And harder still to walk, when I had to keep my eyes mostly covered. After breakfast, well, lunch technically, I was going to find some sunglasses. It should make my new power bearable, at least with a smidgen of luck.

Lunch was a far better affair than the previous night's dinner. As I sat, chewing contently in the darkest corner in the place, I planned. I needed sunglasses, a more permanent place to stay, and most importantly I needed information.

Sunglasses, I could ask around for a convenience store or similar, which would probably have them. I recalled stands of sunglasses in several stores I had been in, at least.

Most of the information I needed I could get from internet cafes or libraries. But at the moment, I could lay low, and it wasn't top priority. There wasn't a kill order on me at least, and the PRT hadn't figured out where I was. Especially if I stuck with using my new shadow power only. It didn't have the greatest use time, and I couldn't use it more than once without opening a mark on my head, if I guessed correctly. Twice without a disguise, but no glow.

For a place to stay, I would probably need ID. Would anyone want to rent an apartment, even for cash, without asking for it? I didn't know, and asking would probably be non-productive, or indicative of criminal behavior. Attention I didn't need.

So, in terms of priorities, it was sunglasses, ID, and information.

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The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the city, and dropping the temperature. Tonight I was further inside the city, with much larger buildings rising above the roughly three story average. I knew they weren't apartments, but they had a similar layout from what I could tell of their windows and lights.

My bags, now inside a backpack, were hidden underneath a bed in a motel a mile away. I kept the majority of my large bills on me, just in case. I sat in a pizzeria, eating, and watching across the street. Sunglasses on my bleached, straightened hair, both from purchases at a drug store. I sipped my coke, watching the quick business of the local _illegal_ drug store.

Men and women exchanged cash for little baggies. Women in varying shades of red left for short periods of time with men, and returned alone.

I waited, dusk moments away.

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Ochre Fountain 4.5

Night fell as I got up to refill my drink. More red-clad men appeared, and I counted. Another half-dozen, making it over fifty, at the very least. They had been showing up all afternoon, and I had only seen about half of them leave. Plus, multiple capes.

I had used my sensor power, on four oddly dressed individuals. Number one, tentatively named Shockwave, had nearly blown out my ear drums when I looked at him. Numbers two and three had been duds, unpowered. Number four, one of the few women that wasn't a prostitute – unless they were exchanging drugs off the street, of course – had given me a brief sense of vertigo, accompanied by a minor batch of nausea. I was calling her Seasick, for the moment. The last one had shown up an hour ago, and my pools were full again.

I finished my drink, and tossed my paper plate and cup. Back to work. Even a little bit of damage to their funding was helpful. I left the pizzeria, shivering slightly at the cold. It had been nice and toasty in there. I rubbed my arms, walking away from the area. Or more specifically, around the area. I needed to find a good patch of shadow that led directly to the building.

At the end of the block, both streetlights were out. I stepped into the shadows, releasing my form into a stream, moving up the side of the building. I slid around a pole, and bounced up the face of it. I snaked along the rooftops, jumping across the gaps between buildings. I reached the building before my target, and peeked my head above the lip of the roof, getting a closer look.

A window, not five feet away from me was open, casting light in a cone towards me. Hmm. I slipped to the rear of the building, and could see that this breaker box had a lock on it. I started swirling in a shadowy circle as I thought.

I reached out and grasped a rock, an arm reforming out of shadows. I wound my arm up, throwing it, emptying half my remaining inner pool of power. It sailed perfectly, and hit the transformer on the utility pole leading to building. A spray of sparks erupted, and the closest few buildings went dark. I sprinted, diving through the open window, and pooling at its base.

Two people were in bed – I turned away, embarrassed, leaving the room. The hallway was full of armed gang members. A man was shouting while dragging a barely clothed woman by her hair.

"It's fucking them again, kill'em!"

"But-"

"But what? But what?! They take our shit, I'll take it out of you!"

With that, he felt his way downstairs, woman stumbling behind him. I was expected. Not good. Everything would be locked down, and probably have gangsters sitting on top of it to boot. I couldn't accomplish anything here.

I slid down the stairs, following the apparent leader.

"Stupid bitch, hurry up!"

The entire building shook, and I nearly retched. Sound. Sound was blasting, so low that it must have been inaudible, but nearly crippling. I bounced down the stairs, not caring if I got caught, and swirled about the leader's legs, before hiding underneath a car.

He dragged the near comatose woman to a car, and opening it, threw her in. Several other pairs of feet joined him.

"Find who is fucking with us, and kill'em. I've got a date with a bitch."

He entered the car, slamming the door, followed by two more doors slamming as others got in. I couldn't let that happen. Would he take his anger out on her? Anger I had caused? There were no distractions I could make to cause him to let her go, like I did last night. His car started, and pulled out. The remaining feet went back inside, with one pair moving to the car I was underneath. The leader pulled out, driving away.

I shot forward, a line of shadows. The car behind the leader had a man fumbling with the keys in the lock. I grabbed him by his head, and smashed it three times in quick succession into the roof of the car, grabbing the keys as he fell. A quick turn, and the door opened. I slid in to the seat, keys turning in the ignition. Shadows shedding from my flesh, I became real once more, and I pushed my foot to the petal, and jerked forward.

The car accelerated, throwing me back in the seat. Damn, I needed to learn how to drive. Taking driver's ed might have been a good idea before all this. I twisted the wheel, following the other car, the back of my car sticking out into the other lane. I twisted the wheel, trying to straighten out. My right foot on the gas, and my left was hovering over the brake. Not easy. I sped after them, catching up.

They were traveling the speed limit, I was not.

A pair of gunshots from the passenger ahead of me made me duck my head instinctively. My right mirror shattered as a bullet punched through it. Ice-cold rage flowed through my veins, as they tried to kill me. I didn't have anything I could hit them with-

On the seat beside me, sat a handgun. I grabbed it, putting it in my lap. They turned a corner, slowing down to take it. Another gunshot went wide, hitting something with the sound of falling glass. I could feel, with sudden clarity, exactly how to stop them. I rammed them, turning into them. Foot stomping on the brakes as I flopped back from the impact, I pulled the gun out of my lap, aiming at the driver through my passenger side rear window.

_Click_.

Safety! I fumbled with it, head nearly splitting in anger, and they started pulling forward. I pulled the trigger, and the gun jumped in my hands, nearly causing me to drop it, but the bullet broke their back window, and the passengers flailed. I was holding the gun wrong, I knew, and with a quick movement, adjusted my grip. Foot now on the gas, I took off after them, gun in one hand, other on the wheel. Easier and easier, each push of the pedal more instinct than action. A car in the opposite lane honked, as we screamed by it. The night seemed even more clear as we flew down the road.

I snapped the car around the corner, pulling out of the turn with the ease of long-practice, right behind them. The wheel was almost a third arm, such was the ease of controlling it. They were going into a lot, filled with semi-trailers. They screeched to a halt, brake lights glaring.

The leader ran out of his car, eyes wide. In front of him, the other red-clad man ran, hands going to a gun in his waistband. As he pulled it, I floored the car. I could see the gun rising, ever closer to aim at me. With a cold smile, with the gun half-way up, I twisted the wheel, hard left. I drove into the concrete barricade at the side of the road, car going airborne, flipping towards them. I landed behind it, wisps of shadow coming off my flesh, hand abraded from braking myself on the road with it.

I heard, with perfect clarity, two short screams before the sound of metal on concrete drowned them out.

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Ochre Fountain 4.6

I stalked over to the wreck of my stolen car. The closer one had been hit dead on, and was missing everything from the neck up. I reached down, picking up his handgun, and held it in my injured hand. A groan attracted my attention, and I saw the leader, pinned underneath the roof of the car. An answering moan from the fleeing car signaled the woman waking up.

_Crack!_

I put a bullet in the leader's head, compensating for recoil. Others wouldn't be able to see in the dim light, but I saw the red slush coating the pavement behind him. I flipped my newly acquired and still full pistol around, grasping it by the barrel. I set my old pistol down on the roof of the abandoned car, illuminated from behind by the flickering headlights of the wrecked car. I reached through the back seat of the abandoned car, grabbing the woman by her shoulder, pulling her towards me.

"What?" She said, disorientated.

I pistol-whipped her across the face. She screamed, falling back, but I dragged her back, pistol-whipping her across her torso. She tried to interpose her arms, but that just gave me more targets.

"Stop! Please, stop!" She shouted through bloody lips.

I kept hitting her.

"I give!"

I stopped. She panted, bleeding and probably concussed. She wouldn't be attacking me, and would probably flee.

"I give up, please just stop. Please."

Behind me, I could hear cars arriving. I turned, grabbing my old pistol off the roof of the car. Men and women in red had arrived, along with one of the two I knew were powered. Thirteen in total. Such an unlucky lumber. They carried everything from baseball bats to pistols, and one of them even had an Uzi. Incongruously, one even held a bottle of alcohol. But they were enemies. My enemies.

Shockwave stepped forward, and opened his mouth.

I shot him in the head, at twenty yards, three shots hitting out of four. Number three missed, but one, two, and four all hit. Each fragment of bone seemed to shine in the not-light as they drifted through the air. Sprays of blood misted the two men behind him. Greatest threat dealt with first. With that, I turned and shot both headlights of the crashed car, plunging myself into darkness.

I stuffed the now empty pistol, barrel first, into a pocket and became shadows once more, a liquid stream carrying two guns. Bullets impacted my former position, but I kept moving silently in the dark. I strayed to the edge of the clearing, moving underneath parked trailers.

Someone among them shouted out orders, to the general consternation of my enemies. I moved to my closest target, who was holding a knife. He turned, seeing something out of the corner of his eye. Likely seeing _me_. It didn't matter as I reformed, the barrel of my full pistol pointed to the side of his skull.

A loud _crack_ echoed through the street, and I felt blood mist onto my face, along with tiny slivers of skull pinging off my hand. The enemy's legs gave out instantly, and he dropped his knife as his hands went to futilely keep his skull together. I caught it in my open left hand.

Eleven more.

I rushed to the opposite side of their crescent like formation, low to the ground, invisible to them in the near absence of light. A cavalcade of bullets were sent to my former location, with several hitting their expiring comrade. As I reached the far man, I jumped out of the shadows, striking. My knife sliced through the enemies' neck, cutting an inch deep through the entire left side.

Ten more.

His gurgling screams attracted the groups dwindling attention to their backs, and they responded, tightening into a more circular grouping. I slipped in between their legs, rising from a gun wielder's shadow. My enemy gave the start of a scream as he felt the barrel of my gun rest against the back of his neck. It was cut off with another sudden c_rack_ of the gun.

Nine more.

I slid around the dropping body, like a sheet in the wind, my hand reforming to pinch out two more quick shots to the side and front of my enemies' heads, respectively wielding a baseball bat and another knife.

Seven more.

A brief flare of light gave me pause, and I paused to snap a shot into the Uzi-wielders face, across the ragged circle, the bullet entering his eye, snapping his head back.

Six more.

The bottle of alcohol, top on fire, was sent right at me. I moved back, but it hit a woman next to me. She ignited with a scream, and I mimicked her, burning liquid sloshing on my legs, tearing the shadows apart with hateful light. I rolled across the ground, smothering myself, as bullets passed through my upper body. Hurting, but invisible again, I stood.

Five more.

My dark light of my mark shining on his face, my enemy flinched back. I had popped up directly in front of him, gun to his neck. Another _cr__ack _broke the night, briefly silencing the flaming woman's screams. The man's ruined throat released blood, staining my gun and hand.

Four more.

I let out a succession of shots, pain dulling my aim. Nine shots to eliminate the three farthest enemies. My tenth silenced the woman's screams, leaving only the crackling of cooking flesh, and sound of the already dead.

One more. The bottle man.

The _c__lick_ of the pistol was loud, but not louder than the few enemies still conscious and living.

Empty. I put my newly empty pistol in my pockets along with my other empty one before I flicked out my knife, watching as the enemy stumbled forward with a lunge of his own revealed knife.

I sliced, cutting his wrist open, and he reflexively dropped his weapon as I stepped in. A quick slice to the throat, and stab right to the stomach. He fell, and I rode him down, shadows coming apart to reveal me, shifting my grip on the knife to a reverse one. I pulled it out, enemy gurgling, and with two deft stabs, ruined his tearing eyes. He rattled something indecipherable out, and then slowly grew still. I stood, field clear of enemies.

And what was I doing? What in the hell was I doing!? I dropped the bloody knife, shaking. My arms were covered in blood up to my elbows, and I could feel it congealing on my face. Legs in agony, I collapsed, tripping over the body at my feet.

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Ochre Fountain 4.7

I landed on the body, whimpering as I felt blood squelching. My legs didn't help either. Even the jeans rubbing against my legs brought fresh agony. I retched, nauseous at the smells and sights, along with what I had done.

I hadn't felt anything. A brief snap of rage in the car, and then nothing. Cold, mechanical precision as I took sixteen people's lives. No pity, no remorse, nothing. I vomited, covering the body I was on, along with my own legs. I groped, blind, for the knife. Blind, because I couldn't see out of eyes clenched shut. Covered in vomit, I found it. Hands dripping from a variety of fluids, one closed around the knife, I pushed myself to my feet.

A whimper, mirroring my own, alerted me that the woman was still in the car. I shuffled over to her, to see if she was alright. As I reached her, a cell phone lit up, faintly lighting the car door closed to me. I stepped into the light, and asked, "Are you alright?"

The light traveled up my body, and stopped on my face. She dropped the cell phone, scrunching back, screaming, "Please! Don't hurt me anymore!"

She might have needed the phone to see, but I didn't. I could see her in perfect clarity. Her face was bloody, already bruising, and I could see teeth knocked out. She crab walked out the other door, and crawled away, crying, terrified, and saying the word "Please!"

Over and over again.

I fell against the door, stunned. I watched her crawl away, remembering what I had done. I had pistol-whipped her, for no other reason than she had been there, a possible threat. I dry-heaved, nothing else coming out of my stomach. I pushed myself off the door. I could hear sirens approaching in the distance. Probably drawn by all the gunfire.

I was only half a mile from the motel. I moved, mind blank.

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I fumbled with the keycard, finally getting it in, and leaving bloodstains on the door handle. I stumbled to the bathroom, and started washing my arms with a wet towel. The cold turning warm water came off red. It pooled in the sink, the drain insufficient for its task. My arms done, I threw my stained jacket over my shoulder into the shower/tub combination, and started on my face.

I took my jeans off. It wasn't easy – they kept getting caught on my skin, pulling at it, and very painfully at that. I finally got them all the way off, and bit my lip at the sight. Burns, yellowish white covered my legs, skin blistered as well. Patches where the majority of burning alcohol had hit my right leg were darker, almost brown, and hurt less. But they looked far worse.

In the mirror, I didn't look any different. The same Taylor I had been all week. Different than the previous Taylor. Prettier, maybe. A monster? Definitely. How many of those people had kids? Family? Parents? Or dreams? Dreams of being something else, something more? How many people would be getting phone calls, that someone had died? I remembered all too well what it was like, with vivid detail.

I waddled to the bed in my underwear and shirt, not wanting to bend my legs. I still had to, minutely, grimacing at each new pain. I sat on the bed, legs straight, and pulled myself further on it with my arms. I lifted my legs up after, still hurting.

On the bedside table, I had my purchases from the drug store. I pulled out the razor, still in its plastic wrapping. I fumbled at the packaging, ineffectually. I finally punctured it with a nail, and, cutting my hand as I did so, tore it apart. A faint line of blood on my palm, and a few droplets splattered my shirt.

I pulled the razor out, throwing the ruined packaging away, off onto the floor.

What would dad think?

I wasn't even in control of myself anymore. I was a danger to everyone around me. The rage had subsided, but when would it come back?

What would mom think?

I sat on my bed, twisting the razor in my hand. Burnt, and still with faint traces of blood on me. Eyes blurry, I set the razor on my wrist-

_Bring-Bring._

The room phone rang, and I reached for it, on instinct. I held it to my ear, and didn't say anything.

"Ms. Hebert?"

The razor dropped from my hand.

"Ms. Hebert. Or Defiler. I would like to meet. I wish to propose a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Who are you?" I whispered.

"Call me the Number Man. I will be at the Denny's across from your motel, at midnight."

He hung up.

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Ochre Fountain 4.8

My jacket was too bloody to wear, so I put a sweater on instead. My other pair of jeans took some careful maneuvering to get on. Even so, I was breathing heavily in pain from scrapping my burnt and sensitive skin. I looked at the cheap alarm clock. 11:26. I had enough time to adopt a disguise, and let my mark die down. I had gained a bit of power back during – what had happened.

Stomach queasy again, I made it into the bathroom, and dry heaved into the toilet. Finished, I flushed it, even with nothing coming out. My shoes were still covered in blood and my own vomit, so I took the brief time I had to wash them off, scrubbing with the bloody towel. They felt cold and wet on my feet, soaking through my socks as I put them on. Better than squishy and gross. I looked in the mirror, thinking.

I flicked the light of my mark on and off for a moment. I was blond now, plain looking, wearing a jacket decorated with tiny numbers, and it was partially unzipped to show a shirt with the value of pi written out. If that wasn't a hint for someone who called themselves the Number Man, I didn't know what was.

I left, the clock at 11:47, staining my hand as I closed the door. I brushed my hand on my jeans, noting the blood on the handle. I'd have to clean that. I crossed the street, straight to the Denny's. I couldn't remember the last time I was in one. I opened the glass door, and enjoyed the blast of warm air.

"Taylor?"

I turned, right to the cash register, where a waitress was fiddling with something below the desk. I nodded to her.

"Your uncle is in the back, right around the corner," She said, pointing.

I followed her directions, and saw a middle-aged man in a suit at the far back, near the kitchen's door. He occupied the seat of a booth facing me, short blond hair, and wearing glasses. I slid into the booth. In front of me was a pot, presumably holding tea, and a mug.

"Ms. Hebert. Or would you prefer Defiler?"

I looked at him. He looked like any average lawyer or businessman, nothing special. And he had found me with I could only presume was relative ease. "Since you already know who I am, Taylor is fine."

He held his hand up, presumably to stop me from talking. I furrowed my brow, ready to ask him why. A waitress, a new one, bustled over.

"Here you go, hon." The waitress had brought a tray over, and placed several plates before us.

"Thank you," I said automatically, the Number Man echoing me. As she left, I looked at my plates. A pair of sunny side up eggs and a curved line of bacon formed a smiley face, and a waffle with a light coating of butter formed another. I looked at the Number Man, and his pancakes.

He shrugged, minutely uncomfortable.

I snorted, reaching for the syrup.

"I assume you want to know why I called you," the Number Man said, handing the syrup to me.

Finished, I handed it back. "I assume it had something to do with a 'mutually beneficial arrangement.'"

"Yes. In broad terms, you could call me an accountant," He replied, pouring syrup on his pancakes. He set the syrup down, and unwrapped his utensils.

"Primarily, for supervillains." He added, before starting on his very early breakfast.

I nearly coughed up my eggs. I swallowed, wiping my mouth. "Supervillains?"

"Yes. I handle their money, and make sure their investments pay out. Like I said, an accountant. In addition, for some clients, I make arrangements between parties, or reach out for contacts."

"I'm not a supervillain," I said softly, staring at my plates. But my body count sure rivaled one.

"No," he said, "You aren't."

I whipped my head back up, looking at him.

"I can guess, fairly well. You wanted to be a hero. Very similar to my wants: I want to save people."

A brief nagging the back of my head suggested that wasn't quite true.

"But we play with the hands we are dealt. It is not likely for the Protectorate or smaller groups to welcome you with open arms, especially with your baggage."

I knew what baggage he spoke of. Murders. I ate silently, listening to him.

"But I don't think you are 'evil', or even 'bad'. As I said, I think you want to do good. Now, I have two points. Primarily, I think you can do good."

"A collection of bodies disagrees with you," I said, with a bitter laugh, around my full mouth. "I'm a villain now."

"Are you? Do you need to be acknowledged as a hero to be one? Would you like the statistics on what those sixteen gang members would have done within the next decade? I'll tell you. Each of them was statically certain to commit at least a minimum of two murders, to say nothing of the lesser crimes: Assaults, Rapes, and so forth."

He pointed at me, with his knife. "And you stopped that."

As he ate a few quick mouthfuls, letting me think, the waitress came back and asked, "Everything alright?"

"Yes," I replied, while the Number Man nodded, rather than expose his full mouth.

She patted my shoulder, and as she turned around to leave, said, "Hope you feel better dear."

Once she was far enough away, or so I assumed, he explained, "I told them you are my niece, with a difficult home life. More importantly, secondarily, you have the potential to be one of the greatest threats to the Endbringers."

He saw the surprise on my face, and elaborated, "Not only are you a blank spot to all precognitives, including possibly the Simurgh, I do have a theory that you are getting stronger, or at least your powers have a very high limit."

I shrugged, uncomfortable with disclosing much on my powers.

Nodding, he said, "I thought so. At the moment, there are maybe a dozen or so capes who can stand toe-to-toe with them for any period of time. Even one more to that list is better for our chances. How long until the Endbringers stop sticking to a schedule and attack every day? Every hour?"

I shuddered at the thought before asking, "Would they?"

"I don't know, and I don't like that, but it is a possibility I would rather acknowledge than dismiss. Which is my personal reason for helping you. If you are that much stronger and experienced, we could even take down an Endbringer, with you teaming up with the Triumvirate."

"And you want me to be a villain to do this?" I asked, skeptical.

"No. I want you to be stronger. Being a villain is the best possible route for you to increase your powers. I told you, I am very good with numbers. My power revolved around them, and I formulated a prediction model. Probably inaccurate due to the nature of your power, but accurate enough to count as an educated guess. Even with a microscopic increases in your power, going villain will be orders of magnitude more effective. For instance, I am rating you at a Changer 9 right now, ignoring the precog blocking."

I was surprised. I didn't know everything about capes, but that kind of number was fairly rare.

"Yes, high. I predicted that you would end up 10 or remotely 11, going hero. Villain, 12. Same as Eidolon's Trump rating."

I thought, not wanting to talk about the green fire, or how I felt when I used the powers. "But I want to help people. I don't want to hurt people. How many of those gang member's had families? Kids, or parents?"

"And how many of their victims had families, kids, and parents?" He countered, adding, "You've seen what happened in Brockton Bay, with drugs and gangs. Is it any fairer to the child who has to grow up with parents who try to cook meth with him in the room? Who never take care of him?"

"No."

"Indeed it isn't. I'm not saying you have to enjoy hurting people, Taylor. I am saying that you shouldn't feel so guilty for stopping someone like that. Heroes do the same thing. Maybe they break bones, or less, but they still hurt people."

"But you said you work with supervillains," I snapped.

"I do," he admitted again, "But that doesn't mean I don't want to work with heroes, or don't work with them, or that I want to die. The PRT and such have their own Thinkers, barring a few exceptions who come to me, and more importantly, I'd rather not die to an Endbringer. If it eases your mind, I would consider working with you an investment, into life insurance if you will."

"Life insurance?"

"My current model is that the world will end, guaranteed within 50 years."

"How?"

Elaborating, he said, "Fresh water supply, for one. Arable land, another. The Simurgh, destroying any attempts to fix anything. The list goes on. Do you see my urgency now?"

"Yes," I answered.

"I want you help me stop that. And, if I may say so without being impolite, what are gangs but bullies?"

"What," I said, slightly harsher than I intended.

"Forgive me, I know this is a sensitive topic. But what do they do? The prey on the weak. Those too weak to stop their addictions, they sell them drugs. Too weak to stop the gang? They make them pay protection money. What are they, but bullies writ large? And do the heroes stop them? Have you seen gangs disappearing, their numbers falling?"

I didn't answer.

He set his utensils on his plate, and moved it to the edge of the table. He slid a piece of folded paper over to me. "Taylor, if you want to talk more, here is my number. I want you to think about what I said. What it means to be a hero, or a villain. To help people, who need it most. To possibly save the world."

With that he stood, walking for the door, leaving to my thoughts.

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Ochre Fountain 4.9

I sat, finishing my meal. I hadn't realized I was so hungry. Possibly because I had thrown everything up. I scraped my plate clean, and drained my tea. Standing, I rubbed my eyes. I was fairly tired. On the way out, our waitress waved me over to the register.

"Your uncle paid already. Have a great evening."

I thanked her, and left. The blast of cold air was unpleasant after the comfort of warm food and heaters. Sitting down hadn't been as pleasant as laying my legs flat, but it was still better than walking. A quick walk back to the motel room, and careful not to get more blood on my hands, I entered the room. I went into the bathroom, and grabbed the filthy cleaning towel. A few quick wipes on the door got the vast majority of the blood off. Good enough.

I looked at the room, my eye catching on the razor. My breath caught, and I clenched my fists. Never again. Breathing heavily, I grabbed it off the bed, and went back into the bathroom. I stripped the liner out of the metal wastebasket. I grabbed the razor between my hands, and cracked it in half with a snap of anger and sound. It burst into green flames as it fell into the wastebasket, burning merrily for a few brief seconds, before it sputtered out, leaving nothing but faintly glowing ash. I sighed in relief. Never again. Never would I try again, and never would I snap again.

Back in the actual room, I carefully eased myself under the covers. I might be able to stop Endbringers. I fell asleep with ease.

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Backpack on my shoulder, I checked the room for anything I might have left behind. My cash, clothes, filthy clothes (less filthy now that I had scrubbed them in the tub) in a plastic bag, and my various purchases, check. One destroyed razor, check. The same disguise as last night, check. I was ready to go.

The honk of a taxi reminded me that I was semi-on schedule, if I wanted to get everything done today. I closed the door behind me, leaving the keycard in the room. The taxi was in the lot, right where I had told him to be. The room phone's booklet contained a number of taxi hotlines, and with my current funding, it seemed the best way to get around.

"Annette?" He asked me out his window.

"That's me," I said as I got in behind the passenger seat, stowing my backpack next to me.

"Where to?"

The only place I knew deep in the city, "The Metropolitan Museum of Art."

"About twenty minutes, and twenty-five bucks."

"Fine with me."

He backed the taxi up, and we took off quickly got on a highway.

"Where you from?"

"Boston," I lied.

"Visiting?"

"Looking at schools," I lied again, "What's the local news here?"

"Some good ones here, and not much. I heard there was some sort of gang fight that ended up with lots of bodies. And Legend was gone for a while, probably on vacation."

"He probably needed it."

"You telling me? Guy deserves it. He's out all the time, flying over, looking out for all of us."

We pulled off the highway, going down a street. I needed to get my bearings, so I asked, "What street is this?"

"Park Avenue. 5th is a straighter shot, but it takes forever. We'll be on 5th for the MET."

We were silent the rest of the drive, but for the faint sound of the radio, and him tapping his hands to the beat. As we turned, facing what could only be the museum, he said, "It'll be twenty-four and change."

I unzipped my backpack, and opened one of my rolls of cash. I handed him thirty dollars and said, "Keep the change. Thanks for the information."

He waved me off with a, "Good luck in school!"

Shouldering my now closed backpack, I walked up to the museum. Made of marble, with columns and decoration across its entire face, it looked more like a palace than a museum. A security guard was standing in the foyer, presumably in case of villains. Museums were a favored target for a certain subset of the villain population, those who treated stealing from places like it like it was a game. The campy ones, or the true believers. I was sure the museum had Legend and company on call, if need be.

I approached the guard and asked, "Excuse me?"

He turned, a friendly smile on his face, querying, "How can I help you, miss?"

I made a story up on the spot. "Well, I need to do a paper for my art class, but my computer is broken. Do you know of any computer cafes around here?"

He pointed, over my shoulder, and I turned to follow. "If you follow 81st, the street right over there, to Park, there is one right over there. It's not an uncommon problem."

I thanked him, and left.

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This cafe sold food, and I had brunch, consisting of some small pastries and coffee. I really needed to start eating healthier, or I was going to get fat. I may not be exactly a true Changer, but I did appreciate my actual change in terms of my real appearance. Sure, I might remind people subconsciously of a spider with my longer limbs, but I gained more than I lost.

On the computer, I looked at news sites, at the government official statistics, and even just searching.

Kids killed in crossfires. Rampant drug use, with the police barely containing it, with failure points appearing more and more often. Theft, muggings, and burglaries following the drug use as people tried to pay for it. Arson on shops who refused to pay protection money. Sex trafficking and slavery. With dawning horror, I began to realize the scope of the problem. In comparisons of major cities, NYC had the lead in murder, violent crime, and burglary, and it wasn't too far behind in rape and theft either.

And it was the most gang-infested city in the country, barring Los Angeles. Both in terms of numbers and parahumans. Even I hadn't put a significant dent with my rampage. Children, twelve years old, press-ganged into gangs, with no other choice except for a bullet or beating.

It was a problem, and one the Protectorate and allies hadn't fixed. How could you, when you were bound to be heroes? You couldn't do anything but slap them on the wrist. Toss them in jail, nevermind that Rikers Island, the main holding facility, had been broken out of enough times to count as Swiss cheese. Even with Tinker help, it was still incredibly vulnerable. Mind made up, I logged out, and left the cafe.

Where could I meet him? I wanted to see how fast he could respond and how fast he could get somewhere. If he was based here in NYC, that was one more bit of information. A payphone finally caught my eye, and reaching it, I dialed him.

He picked up on the third ring.

"Taylor."

"I want to meet again, to discuss options. One hour, Metropolitan Museum. Front steps, I'll be dressed same as last night."

"One hour," he confirmed, and hung up. I started walking back to the museum.

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Ochre Fountain 4.10

The Number Man arrived, at what could only be precisely on time. His taxi pulled up, disgorging him, and without even a word it drove away. He must have paid his fare on the way over.

He nodded to me, and I joined him in walking into the museum. Overcast and a weekday, it was nearly empty. We both paid $20 for a ticket, and I followed him again, and we walked left into the Greek and Roman section. I stopped, surprised. Had he figured out what I was? What the spider had said? I saw him turning, and hurried to catch up. We passed right through the section, and ended up in the section called Africa, Oceania, and the Americas.

Odd statuary, and cloth hangings primarily decorate the area. The Number Man stopped in front of one, squaring in front of it. He inclined his head to me as I stopped next to him.

"This is the least traversed part of the museum, and from here, including the glass on the cases, we will see anyone who wishes to interrupt our conversation."

I nodded, relieved he hadn't powered out another secret. "I wanted to talk again."

"About our previous conversation, I presume."

"Yes," I said. I paused, steadying myself with a breath.

"I can see the benefits to being labeled a villain, or using their methods, but I still don't want to be a villain," I answered him.

He nodded, and asked, "Which will be more effective? Hero, where you are under the thumb of a PRT director, or villain, where you make your own choices? Can you stand-by, letting people be bullied?"

I turned with a glare at his attempt to goad me, and he raised his hands up.

"I'm sorry," he said with a twinge, "but it's true. You won't let people be taken advantage of. It's your nature."

"I don't want to kill people," I stated, quietly but emphatically.

"I didn't think you did, but if there is an innocent life on the line, if they will go out and harm more people, what if..." he trailed off. I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me, but it was effective.

"Yes," I whispered.

"What if it makes you stronger, makes you more likely to defeat an Endbringer?"

"Yes," I said more clearly. No lies from him that time. "I do want to know more about them. You said fifty years?"

"I did. Look at what Leviathan did to Japan. An entire country, sundered. Why? Will it happen again? When will it happen again?"

I stared at the statue, thinking. Over thirty million people had died, and twice that number displaced when Leviathan nearly liquefied the central island of Japan. Or what Behemoth had done to Switzerland, what Simurgh did every time she showed up.

"And in fifty years," I clarified.

"Or earlier. The worst prediction made so far was within fourteen years."

I wouldn't even be thirty by then.

"So, what will you do?"

"What I have to," I answered, both tired and filled with resolve.

"You don't have to be a conventional villain, you know. Or even a villain. An anti-villain, if you will. Only attacking the villains. Pulling people out from underneath their thumb, and taking those resources you can for your own. My point is that you shouldn't let yourself be tied down or restrained by the conventional heroes. You need to be stronger."

"Didn't you say you worked with villains? That you handled their money?" I asked, curious that he was going against his clients.

"Yes, but the vast majority aren't. And so long as I don't give you any support, I do not have to give anyone else any support."

"You have something in mind, then," I stated.

"I do," he admitted, and elaborated, "You have already knocked the Bloods into a frenzy. Their rival gang, the Crips, are likely to try to take advantage of the situation, and for their benefit only."

"And?"

"If I make my guess correctly, you incapacitated the leaders of a group of Bloods on Tuesday night, and then stole their money while destroying their drugs. A similar action would incite the Crips, and possibly cause them to blame each other, allowing you more time to destabilize them, in addition to providing you with additional funding."

"And what is your benefit, as an accountant, from me stealing more money?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Hand me cash, and I will turn it into clean money. A bank account you have access to, and I can take the funds out of it, and return it clean. I also have contacts, and can make arrangements."

"And your benefit?" I repeated.

"I take the majority of the profit I make, using your money in the interim, while it is being cleaned. You do get a small benefit from that as well."

I nodded. "So, say if I wanted ID, or weapons -"

"I can arrange that, if only for now. I am generally not so available, however you have caught my interest, and my support is necessary at this juncture."

"So in the future -"

"It would be primarily up to you, yes."

"So, if I handed you a list, I could get certain items, and you take the money now?"

"Yes. However, I'd prefer to discuss this in a place that is a bit more private, especially if it concerns a disguise or costume."

"Where to, then?"

He led me away, our walk silent. We exited the museum, and he waved down a cab. As we got in, he whispered into the cabbies ear. I started to speak, but he shook his hand and I got the message. After a quick, silent ride, which seemed very uncomfortable for the driver, we exited, the Number Man handing him some cash.

We had arrived at a small restaurant, with nothing but small green lettering on the door. Its front was primarily glass, and I didn't see much of a line. The Number Man walked in, nodded to the maitre d', for he could only be that as dressed up as he was, and picked us a table.

He opened his briefcase, and handed me a pen and paper. Bemused, I looked up. "Costume ideas."

I looked behind us, and he cleared his throat. "I picked this spot, again for the view of approaching people. I will warn you if anyone approaches us."

"Thank you." I tapped the pen, thinking. "If I ever have to use a bigger form, I'll destroy my costume. I think-"

He held up his hand, as the waiter came over. He spoke in a language I couldn't recognize, and the waiter left. "Lunch is on me, to signify our new relationship."

"Thank you," I repeated. "I was thinking that I can't really have an actual costume, since the last time I went full scale, I destroyed my clothes."

"Understandable. I would suggest a mask, if only so you wouldn't have to worried about changing shape to disguise yourself."

I didn't correct him on his misconception. The waiter returned with a bottle of water, which bubbled. Odd. I started doodling for a moment, before inspiration struck. On a fresh sheet, I quickly sketched a design, relatively easily, adding in a legend for color, and I handed it over. He nodded, and asked, "Material?"

"Preferably bulletproof."

"Anything else?"

I nodded, and looking behind me, opened my backpack, handing it over to him. "I'd appreciate knowing what kinds of pistols these are, and what ammunition to buy for them."

As if it were perfectly natural to look through a girl's backpack at her pistols, he nodded, rustling through. "A Glock 17, and a 1911. I'm not sure on the make of the later. 9mm and .45 on each. I would suggest adding ammunition to the list, as well as manuals."

Lunch arrived, and I added to a piece of paper creatively title, 'List.' Lunch turned out to be a pale soup, which the Number Man identified as 'Vichyssoise,' and a salad called 'Nicoise.' Good, but tuna with salad was very odd. I finished my lunch quickly, and then finished the list, and handed it to him. He scanned it quickly, and quoted a number. I suppressed a wince, and riffled through my backpack, counting out bills. He passed his briefcase over, and I placed the bills inside.

"Call the number, and I will have it delivered to the address you specify. Anytime after 5pm will be fine. Once you have more funding, call, and we will set up accounts if you want to."

I nodded, and rose. He rose with me, and I left to go shopping with my remaining money.

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I was down to under five hundred dollars. My clothing purchases, along with a pair of suitcases to carry them with, weren't cheap, but had only amounted to under a thousand. Most of my money had gone to the Number Man. I now had plenty of dark blue clothing and jeans, primarily with bronze designs. I had shopped around, not wanting to buy too much at one store. Dark blue, because the Number Man had recommended it over pure black for concealment, and bronze, if only for the reminder that I was Defiler. I had masked my purchases with other clothes, and finally had enough fitting clothes that I didn't have to fret over destroying more.

My hotel was a bit nicer, if only to break the pattern of motel usage. Additionally, I had booked and paid for three nights, to further throw off the pattern. If the Number Man had found me, others could. I had made sure to check in with a new disguise, one fitting my soon to be new ID. I made my call, and waited for the box to be delivered. Barely an hour later, I received a call from the front desk, and went down to pick up my box. It was large, about the size of those used to hold a decent sized PC, and it wasn't easy to get into the elevator, but I managed and got it back to my room. I was both impressed and slightly terrified at the resources getting everything so fast implied. He either must have more money than I thought he did, or an organization.

I set it down on the bed, and opened the box. A belt, with two loops where my legs would go was on top. A holster for a pistol, a knife, collapsible baton, and taser were on it. Right, back, back, and left, respectively. Lower, on the legs, were two pouches on each side I assumed were for magazines for my pistol, which I knew to be a Glock 17, from both the Number Man, and several folders of information with the rest of my new items. I flipped through some of the papers, seeing it was about the gang that he had mentioned in the museum. Several photographs of buildings dominated the files.

Underneath the harness were multiple boxes of 9mm and .45 ammunition, and my Taser. Mass Production, a Tinker, had founded his own company by applying his ability to existing items. He only made marginal improvements for a Tinker, but overall, they were significant. Not only did the Taser come with a magazine of darts, instead of single reloads, it was supposed to be very effective as a touch weapon. Additional reloads were included as well.

With butterflies in my stomach, I got to the bottom layer. A collapsible baton was there, but most importantly, and expensively, at over two grand, my mask. I had gotten the idea from my mark. Inky black, it seemed to suck in the light as well. It was a plain oval, raised to accommodate my face, and its only decoration was a thin brass line at my lips. A hood extended from its back, and I put it on, stuffing my hair underneath.

Small sections of one-way translucent material accommodated my eyes, and I could see right through. In addition they functioned as sunglasses, should I need to go out in the day, and didn't want to be blinded.

I turned, facing the mirror near the room's closet. I was ready.

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Ochre Fountain 4.11

I slipped a new pair of jeans on over my burnt and metal flesh. I hadn't quite fully healed, but I was making progress. I started packing my backpack with my acquisitions that were necessary for tonight, starting with a new jacket. On top of that, my mask. I pulled all four magazines out of their pouches, with the fifth from the gun, and with a learning experience and flip through my literature, managed to stuff 17 rounds in each magazine. I replaced the four into my harness, and load the fifth.

I paused, scrunching my face up. I pulled back the "slide," and loaded a bullet into the chamber. I ejected the magazine and put another one in. That made much more sense. Making sure the safety was on, as I didn't want to shoot myself, I replaced the magazine, and put the gun into its holster. The baton, knife, and Taser went in as well. I didn't have room for more Taser reloads, though. I could always just use it at touch range, though. A bag of zip ties, already open on top, and I was ready.

I shouldered my backpack, grabbing the folder with information on it. A quick flick through it got me the address I needed. Taking the empty elevator down, disguised as with the face on my new documents, I took a longer look. The first few pages were floorplans, with annotations in neat handwriting. After that, several profiles of parahumans, and lastly, a list of possible other gang members along with projected findings.

Over a million dollars in cocaine. I had to double take, surprised at the sheer value. That wasn't pocket change, and I could see why this would certainly piss them off. The elevator dinged, reaching the lobby, and tucking the folder underneath my arm, I walked out. I hailed a cab, and gave him the location to go, but two streets before my true target. I wouldn't want a cabbie reporting he dropped someone off right before a crime.

On the ride over, neither the driver nor I talked. He apparently wasn't interested, and I had reading to occupy myself. Most people would have had issues reading in the back of a darkened cab, with only street lights for illumination. If anything, the street lights made it harder for me to read. Three gang capes were likely to be there: Air Raid, Meat Rod, and Gangbang.

Air Raid was a Blaster 5, capable of blowing air with hurricane force, easily able to down a building, only holding a lower rated because of his need to charge up. He got his name from the wailing sound he generated as he blasted air. A side note suggested he might have some ability to sense things within the area he affected, but had not been proven or reliably observed. An alternating black/blue striped costume, more like a long sleeve shirt over pants, and a mask with the same design.

Meat Rod was a Brute 3, primarily strong. Strong enough to rend a dumpster or car in two, by the citations on his sheet, and possibly able to jump farther as well. The sheet made it clear that it was just speculation. A solid blue costume, skintight on what could certainly be called a 'stacked bod'.

Gangbang, in addition to being the highest rated at Master 6, Brute 2, had the dubious honor of having the most offensive cape name. Unfortunately, it was also descriptive of his powers. He could make short lived clones, with lifespans of about 15 minutes, that also gained enhanced physical abilities, stronger than most weightlifters. His only drawback was that someone had to hit him in order for him to split in two. He wore a lurid pink costume, only showing his allegiance by blue decals on his chest, and a blue bandana around his face.

The final sheet had projections of the possible unpowered. At least a dozen, but less than forty. Not a happy estimation. Reading further, groups would come in to pick of newly sorted and bagged cocaine, and then go out to distribute it. This early at night, barely an hour and a half after sunset, it would be less likely, but still possible that I could encounter serious numbers.

I flipped back to the floor plan. A former warehouse, easily seen to my untrained eye, if only for the large amount of open space. A large loft above the western half of the building contained a pair of large bathrooms, along with what had been office space. Notes on the edge of the sheet pointed out that it was likely to be the equivalent of a break room or bunking, now. The lower floor had several possible configurations, each noted to be a guess, with long tables for sorting drugs. Most importantly, the circuit breaker box was noted on the plan. I had my plan now.

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File in my backpack, I paid the cabbie. He drove off without even a good night, leaving me underneath a street light. I had two blocks to go to my target. A derelict building the block up, only one block away from the target, would serve as a changing room. I left the street lights irritating light, and my eyes instantly readjusted. A quick walk to the building, and I peered into its broken windows. Another former warehouse, it was empty, but for its loft area, which no longer had walls. They had been stripped out, and I could easily see a fire burning in a large metal can. Oil drum, I guessed.

I entered, careful not to step on broken glass, or the can and string tripwire. A warning for the current occupants. I set my back pack down, and took off my jacket. I removed the belt/harness, and stepping into it, pulled it up. I tightened the straps, and stretched, making sure I had mobility. Check. I checked the buttons on the flaps to keep my gear in. Check. A new dark jacket with bronze designs went on next. Check. Finally, my mask. Pulling my hair together and behind, I put it on. Check.

I would need to adjust the design. I couldn't quite see out of my peripheral vision as well as I should. The Number Man could put me into contact with someone. I put my non-costume jacket in the backpack, and put the backpack back on. No pillowcases this time. I left the building, and started to the target.

In front of the warehouse, in the fading asphalt lot, were five cars. At least five people inside then. Lights could be seen through the windows, however they were either boarded up, or had sheets hanging behind them to obscure the interior. Two pinpricks of light near the door identified two smokers, along with a third who wasn't smoking. With only two streetlights in their line of vision, I might as well have been in shadow form already.

I passed up the street, and passed the target. Out of sight of any possible sight of the guards, I crossed over, finally reaching my target. With the only light on me the light of the full moon, I snuck around the opposite side of building from the guards, careful to not block any windows, in case I silhouetted myself. Walking gently as to not disturb any loose pieces of asphalt, I crept towards the breaker box. I peered around the corner. No one there.

I moved quickly to the box, only to find it was locked. Damn. I should have bought bolt cutters. Improvising time. Back around the corner, I picked up a piece of asphalt, covering my hands in moist dirt in the process. Gloves too, next time. I held the rock over my head, and double checking to see which line I wanted, brought it down, surrounded by a green nimbus of light. It burnt right through the metal pipe covering the wiring.

I moved back around again, this time with the lights extinguished. Faint noises could be heard from the windows, and I crept all the way around the building, and saw the guards separating. One stayed, and two went to the box. My inner pool emptying completely, I turned into shadows, wrapping around the building. I waited till they had turned the corner, and moved. I slipped the Taser out of its holster, and silently moved to right behind the guard, who was staring at where his compatriots had left.

Selector set to touch, I clapped my left hand on his mouth, surprising him, if only temporarily, before my right pressed the Taser to his bare neck and discharged. He seized up, and collapsed, wheezing softly. I pulled him back, dragging him along the ground, to the rear of the building. I dropped him, and reaching into my backpack, retrieving zip ties. I hog tied him, and found the third thing I should have brought: Duct tape.

Instead, I tore off one of his shoes, and with muffled protests, stuffed a sock in his mouth. Two zip ties chained together kept it in. Yet I could still hear him, and the returning two probably would as well. Unseen by my captive, I grimaced. I pulled my pistol, and pressed it to his forehead.

I whispered in a low, harsh voice, "You can be quiet, or I can make you quiet."

He stopped mumbling, waving his hands from behind his back as much as he could.

I re-holstered the pistol, and headed for the breaker box. Peering around, this time an inch above the ground, I saw the two guards trying to figure out what had happened. Both were using their cell phones to illuminate the burnt out pipe, the faint stench of burnt wiring in the air. I reformed, pulling the Taser into my left hand, and extending my baton in my right with a flick. I slid in between them.

"And what, you think it just happened-"

I swung the baton at the farther one's jaw, while driving the Taser into the back of the closer's neck. The closer collapsed against the wall with a grunt, and the further gave a gurgled scream, barely audible over his jaw. I drove the Taser into his stomach. He went down too. This time, I took off their shirts, both button ups, and tied them around their mouths after I zip tied them.

Not even three minutes. Quiet and near invisible, I went to the door again. The door had never had weathering installed, so I slipped underneath. The room was faintly glowing, from various heaters set up inside, the majority glowing red. Several dozen women in their underwear, with nurse's masks and gloves were sorting white powder at two long tables. A lesser amount of men and women in blue were sitting around on a variety of couches and chairs, the majority armed. Conversations, from faint to loud masked anything else. I couldn't see into the lofts, which had only two windows facing me. Both windows were covered with cloth.

Fourth thing to shop for; Stun grenades. If the Number Man got all this so quick, he could get me those.

Four armed blue members were further away, either on cell phones, or nodding off. Them first.

My first target was nodding off, and my hand on his face masked him getting stunned. I dragged him behind a set of crates, which as I got closer, could see were full of propane tanks. A quick strip and zip tie, and he was good. Shouts alerted me.

I peered back out from behind the crates, and saw Meat Rod yelling at the collection of armed gangsters.

"-Then fucking fix it!"

With that, easily half of the armed members headed for the door.

Shit. I counted seven.

I reached the door before them, and slid back around the corner facing the street. I heard the door open, and the group exiting followed by the door closing. I slipped back around. They walked in a loose grouping, complaining.

"-and why do we gotta go out and fix it? Fucking lazy."

I grabbed the straggler, taking him down. I didn't have time to drag him. I moved forward, baton now in my mouth covering hand. I swung out, arm appearing at knee level, and hit the inside of a woman's knee. She went down with a shriek, and I tased her conversational partner, jamming it into his groin. The remaining four turned, and I darted between their legs.

"I-" The one of the two in the back started to say something before I tased him in the leg, and whatever he tried to say turned into a shriek. I swung my baton up into the next closest groin. The woman shrieked as well, hands over her groin, and collapsed to her knees. One of the remaining two charged straight at me, or what he could see of me, and I clocked him in the side of the neck with the baton.

Screaming incoherently, the last one stumbled over the first downed man, and then reached the door, slamming it behind him, still screaming in the process.

So much for stealth. I zip tied the six downed men and women, batoning two hands that got grabby. As I did so, I could hear arguments inside, along with metal stairs being stomped on. I slid underneath the door, to find a group of men and women aiming guns at the door, while the three capes stood around with more goons around them. The half-naked women were clustered far away from the door, still wearing gloves and masks.

I returned to the corner with my first indoor captured target, and thought. I could faintly hear the second round of incapacitated gang members outside, and I didn't want to let them back up. Of course, if I could reduce the light more...

Moving quickly, I switched, turned, and clicked every heater off. The faint clicks weren't audible over the arguments going on between the gang. It appeared no one wanted to go out, but I couldn't take that chance that they would anyways. I needed them to stay indoors. How?

Villains used fear, didn't they? And I didn't have to limit my playbook...

Sliding along the crates, and under the tables, I giggled, loud. Everyone fell silent. I rushed up the stairs, just as quiet, and let out a hysterical laugh. I could hear hands tighten on weapons, and swallowing. Perfect.

The dim red light was growing ever fainter, and with the moonlight blocked by the covered windows, it was nearly pitch dark. Tiny cones of light, from cellphones in armed gangster's off-hands speared the room.

It was like daylight to me. I oozed in between the cluster, and let out a giggle, breaking into a laugh by the door, and put my baton away. As one, everyone inside turned.

"It's nothing, pussies! Just trying to scare us-" Meat Rod yelled at the gang's backs. I slid between his legs, jabbing my Taser into his throat, laughing. He fell to the ground, shaking.

"Jesus Christ," I heard one of them whisper. He was in the middle, so not a good idea to hit him yet. I giggled again as I slid through their loose grouping, pleased as I saw them face each other. A quick wailing sound alerted me to Air Raid charging, and I pooled behind him, jabbing him in the ankle. He discharged, blowing out all the door side windows, to the shouts and screams of the occupants. Faint moonlight shone through holes in plywood and sheets.

As everyone covered their eyes from glass, I struck, once, twice, thrice with the taser, three more down. I went back to Meat Rod, dragging Air Raid, and tagged him again. I retrieved zip ties, listening to them curse. I tied them together, both to restrict Meat Rod's mobility, and to prevent Air Raid from firing again, unless he wanted to pulp Meat Rod's face. I sure didn't want either at my back.

Gangbang and two members were still standing. A stab to the back with the Taser, and two Gangbangs fell together, both shuddering. I moved forward, elbowing a gang member who thought it was a good idea to shine his cellphone near me. The last took a kick to the shin, and a Taser to the chest.

I scanned the room. All done. Zip tie time. I stunned Meat Rod a third time, as he was getting to coherent for my likes. I searched through Air Raid's costume, getting to know him entirely too well, but I pulled out his keys. Re-holstering the taser, I moved quickly, turning the heaters back on. The red glow returned, and the silently huddled women in the back looked at the light. I picked up a cell phone, and pulled my gun. Holding the cell phone light to the gun, I illuminated it.

They shrieked.

"Silence!" I snapped.

They stopped, aside from a whimper or two. "Here is what is going to happen. I have Air Raid's keys. You are going to carry all these drugs, and dump them into his open trunk. Once that is done, I will leave. If not, option B is here. Are we clear?"

Frightened nods and "Yes"s answered me. I had to force them to do it, otherwise they would get punished for my own actions. I moved to the door, opening it, and letting more moonlight in. The third trunk I tried responded to the keys, and I opened it, just as the first woman came out with an armful of drugs. I moved around her feet, moving upstairs. Bedroom, bedroom, bedroom, boardroom. An open safe, even. Several desks were covered in various paraphernalia, but I ignored them for the safe, and stacks of money were shoveled into my backpack, nearly filling it.

Back down the stairs, I watched the women make two more trips, only pausing at the sound of me tasing Meat Rod and Air Raid again.

"Hurry," I said.

With four round trips from the forced, or possibly non-forced employees, the trunk was nearly full, and I spoke again, "Back inside."

With a final tasing to the bigger member of the odd couple, I left the building, slamming the door behind me. I shut the trunk, and got into the driver's seat. Keys in the ignition, I dialed my stolen cell phone.

"Nine-one-one Emergency, what is your location."

I dutifully recited it, and added, "I just saw some men loading white powder, and, ohh no!"

I drew my pistol, and shot it twice, before dropping the phone, and shooting it. Cartridges pinged off the dashboard, falling to my feet. The engine turned over, and I sped out.

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Ochre Fountain 4.12

Car burning rubber, I pulled out. I couldn't burn the cargo inside the building without killing the half-naked women. Or injuring them. I couldn't be sure what the effect of cocaine smoke would be, and there was only one exit from the building. I had to get rid of the drugs and the only ways I could think to was burn them, drown them, or drop them off near the cops. Burning was right out, for now.

I pulled a hard right, heading for the river. The car I had cut off honked at me as we nearly collided. I needed to start planning these escapades better. I went as fast as I could, roaring 40 down a side street, only because it was nearly empty save for cars parked along the side. Or not so empty, as I jerked the car over into the opposite lane as a car pulled out in front of me. I sped past and slid back into the proper lane.

With a start, I reverted to flesh and blood. I nearly plowed into a car on the side in surprise. I thought I would have had longer. Shit. I could see the lights of a bridge, crossing the Hudson. I would have to burn nearly from my outer pool in order to shadow out of the car._Or _maybe not, as I slammed the brakes before speeding up again and pulling out of my headlong rush into a set of bollards. Bollards, planters, and raised concrete ledges lined the road, as far as I could see.

I swerved across traffic, braking and the accelerating into a perfect turn that took me down a larger road. It actually had traffic, and the chorus of honks alerted me that people were upset with my driving skill. Quite understandable. I turned down the nearest sidestreet, looking for somewhere to stop. Time for plan C. An empty lot in front of a closed store. Some sort of car shop. I stopped and got out.

I opened the trunk, reasoning that fire needed oxygen to burn. Doors opened as well, I dashed away, turning back to it two dozen yards away. I drew my pistol, and shot the fuel door and once below it, hands coming up to shield my eyes. _Or fucking not_, as nothing happened. Hollywood lied to me. I emptied the rest of the magazine into the general area around and below the fuel door, and all I got for my trouble was dripping gas.

I nearly attempted to rub my temples, before remembering I had a gun in one hand, and a mask in the way. I stopped moping, and thought. I sat back in the front seat, and pushed in the car cigarette lighter. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for it to pop back out. Click. I pulled it out, and jumping over the expanding puddle of gas, pressed it to one of the top bundles of cocaine. The plastic melted, and started smoking. No flames.

Of course not. I repeated heating the lighter, and with another click, removed it. This time, I sprinted away, and with a twist, flicked it right into the gas puddle, closing my eyes. I felt mildly warm, before a small blast of air fluttered my clothes. Opening them, I would have ruined my night-vision were I not a cape, but I saw a merry little blaze going. It was already reaching into the trunk. I could hear sirens, now.

I ran, to find a place to change back into my civilian clothing.

No more repeat of the amateur hour.

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I had over a hundred grand. A hundred thousand dollars. A portion of the stacks, rubber banded together, had been hundred dollar bills. As in, hundred dollar bills all the way through. It made sense in a fashion that if they were selling a million dollars worth of cocaine, that they would have significant cash reserves, both from selling the product, and in order to buy more. But this was more money then I had ever seen, spread across my hotel room's bed. Probably the value of my dad's house. Maybe less, I didn't know real estate pricing. But all this for one night's work. And if I had gone later, there would have likely been an order of magnitude more.

How much money were these gangs making, just on drugs? No wonder they had bunches of parahumans and oodles of guns. What else could they have? Real estate? Mercenaries? Maybe they even bribed the police.

I needed more information, and more supplies. And I needed to stop acting without thinking.

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I stuffed myself at breakfast, predicting a long day ahead of me. A nice late breakfast, too. Eating better was a nice perk.

A trip to a Wal-Mart yielded duct tape, a set of bolt cutters, watch and matches. Thinking ahead, I also bought rope, writing supplies, binoculars, spray paint, more clothing and a blanket. With a quick check to see if my new ID had me as being of legal age, I added lighter fluid to my cart. While I didn't look like my new ID naturally, turning into a plain brown haired girl my height was fairly easy with my powers.

Of course, I wouldn't have space with all this equipment. A satchel was added, and I peeked into the electronics section. A laptop, so I didn't have to got to libraries or cafes for research sounded nice, but I needed to do research on laptops to buy a good one. Once more to a cafe, then. Finally, I added a prepaid cellphone from the electronics section to my cart. As nice as living in hotels was, I didn't want to have to be in one, or find a payphone to make a call.

Catching a cab back to the hotel, I ate lunch there as well. Money wasn't an object, at least for the moment. I did have plans for it, though. One more theft should net some additional money, and negate any additional dealings from the gangs. Reds, tonight. I repacked my backpack, adding all my purchases except the red spray paint and the vast majority of clothes. I had trouble closing the backpack. Better to have it and not need it than the opposite, I reasoned.

Tonight's uniform would be all blue. Running around in my new mask wouldn't kick off any conflicts between two gangs. Dressing as one of the gangs, and robbing them, while spray painting insulting messages should.

After quick nap I took a cab up north, and I arrived back in the Red's territory an hour before sunset. Bloods technically, but Reds sounded more demeaning. A stop in a convenience store and I filled my satchel, which already had my writing supplies and binoculars in it, with drinks and snacks. My hands were occupied as well. This time, I wouldn't be caught unaware.

I looked for another warehouse, and staying closer to industrial districts, was rewarded as night fell. Having a secret supply base didn't mean jack if you parked half a dozen cars outside of it, the majority of which were painted red and had decals in the same color. Aside from a few windows high up, this warehouse was almost all brick. Several panes were broken, and were covered with plywood. But not tightly. That would be my entry point.

I turned into shadows. I mounted onto a roof across the road, and released myself back into flesh after a quick peek around. I took out my blanket, and wrapped it around me. Binoculars and pen in hand, I started writing, after a quick glance at my watch.

6:38 pm. 6 cars. No entries or exits.

I placed the pen down and opened a package of donuts, and then took a sip of my coffee. A long night to go.

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I had accumulated two full sheets of observations before the buzzing in my pocket alerted me, startling me out of my reverie. I flipped the cell phone open to doublecheck to see if I got the timer to go off right. 4 AM. Time to go.

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Ochre Fountain 4.13

Repacking my bag, I drained the last of my now cold coffee. I really had to pee. I jumped off the roof and landed on the ground as a shadow. I couldn't help that tiny little thrill I felt every time I used a power. Frankly, it was the coolest feeling.

I slid away, becoming fleshy again after looking around for cameras. One person finding me out was more than enough. I started walking, fiddling with my cellphone. I had put in the number for a taxi hotline, and I didn't want to walk back to the hotel. A quick call and not five minutes later I had a cab on the way back. Far better than walking everywhere, like back in the Bay.

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Bladder relieved, and with a new cup of hot coffee, I prepared to review my observations from my stakeout. A plate of eggs and several pieces of toast served as breakfast. I was really learning to like coffee. Especially with these odd nights. Taking a sip, I checked the hotel restaurant for anyone nearby. Still alone, especially at nearly 6 AM. I opened the note book and read.

By my count, at least 38 men and women had entered and then exited the building over the period up until midnight. Afterwords only 7 had come by, in two separate groups. No capes, so far as I could tell. I had used my sensor power on everyone not dressed in plain red, or with the faintest amount of decoration. Nothing.

I would have left, reasoning that anyplace without capes wouldn't be a significant target. Except that at 11:42 by my reckoning, along with the largest departure of people from the building, I had observed them carrying familiar paper bags, along with two wrapped bricks of white powder. Possibly a more local than regional supply center. Still a decent enough target.

I left, paying on the way out. I stopped by the front desk, and paid for two more nights. I was starting to get odd looks at the amount of cash I was using. Well, at least from this shift at the hotel, but if they talked to the shift that had checked me in, they would both find out I used only cash. I'd need to get some sort of bank account or card. Or whatever. I didn't really know much about them. Another set of things to research.

I collapsed, stomach full and warm. I snuggled under the covers, and with few deft movements, set the alarm for 2 in the afternoon. Door marked do not disturb, I slept, easily.

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I felt giddy. Mostly because I had my own laptop. Sure, it had cost nearly two thousand dollars. Sure, it seemed like a waste of money. Sure, it was probably unnecessary, but it was the first thing I had bought with the money that wasn't really an absolute necessity.

And I could use some of that glut of money to help my dad. Next time I talked to the Number Man, I would see about sending some to him. Actually, I might need to hire a lawyer for him, first of all. I didn't know if he would be on the hook for my actions, but it would be best to check and prepare for the worst. I could pay off his mortgage, or even hire him a PR person. Erasing the pain that my actions had caused him was likely impossible, but I could mitigate it.

I checked my watch. Nearly 4pm. Enough time to put my new laptop away and return to the over look.

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I sat, blanket around my knees, looking at the Red warehouse. I took a bite of the sandwich in my hand, and thought while I chewed. One less car tonight. I had already marked it down in the notebook, noting that two cars looked different from the previous night as well. It could indicate some sort of rotation going on between guards or workers.

I was completely blue, as well. If I did have to jump into a fight, I didn't want to be ID'ed as Defiler so rapidly. I had gotten lucky, and except for the Number Man, no one else knew. I'd prefer to keep it that way. The door slammed, and I reflexively ducked down, even in complete darkness. Feeling like an ass, I looked up.

At least fifteen, or possibly more, left the building, getting into cars. All but one car left, the other six pulling out. Two men who hadn't gone with the group turned back inside, stubbing out cigarettes. What was going on? They hadn't been packing drugs, only long objects concealed in blankets. I debated with myself. By my count, that left two plus however many had been inside beforehand. Dammit. What to do? A quick peek at my watch told me it wasn't even 8pm. So, moving a lot of product? Leaving the store open?

I leapt off the roof, and landed on the head of an out of order streetlight while made of shadows. A jump across the road, and I landed at the base of the building. I snaked up into the window frame, fifteen feet off the ground. Narrow as a needle, I entered in between the barely visible space between plywood and frame.

I was in a large, open room, clearly another loft. Both of the bathrooms and several former offices yielded no one. The open room must have been a breakroom, then. I moved down the stairs, careful to avoid the spotty lighting. It sure wasn't drugs they kept in here.

Guns. Lots and lots of guns. AKs, easily identifiable to anyone who had ever seen a movie, filled several crates. Matte black guns of unknown make, from pistol size to rifle size, filled the rest. Enough to outfit an entire town. Three men and a woman sat on metal boxes around a table, made from plywood and metal boxes, playing poker. Several guns were on the table, in addition to bottles of beer. Not a winning combination, for them or me.

I went back up stairs, and checked once more. No money, no drugs. Nothing I could easily take. I came back down, thinking. Nothing visible I could take, excluding guns. And I didn't know how to sell those. I'd have to ask Number Man for help, and I'd much rather save that sorta deal for something far more important. I slipped around the floor, peering into crates.

Metal furniture, guns, metal furniture, guns, guns, guns, trunk-.

I stopped. Money would be in a trunk, wouldn't it? For temporary storage, at the very least. I quick trip to the edge of my aisle, and I saw the poker championship was still in the quarter finals. Back at the trunk, I carefully unlatched it.

Money.

Quietly, I stuffed my backpack with my find. With half of my backpack full of equipment, I couldn't take it all, so I grabbed the stacks with the biggest bills on top. By the time I was down to ten dollar bills, I was full. I zipped up, and, carrying the blue spray paint, snuck back up stairs.

Reading the instructions on the can was easy in the dark, but something I should have done beforehand. I shook it as quietly as I could, and then sprayed close to the wall for a thick line.

"Faggots!", "$$$", and "Bitches" were my contributions to modern art. Dropping the can, I fled out the crack between windowless frame and plywood. A quick trip across the street, and I grabbed my satchel, then fleeing in the gutter along the sidewalk away from the location.

A dull red glow caught my attention, as did the pillar of smoke rising above it. Most importantly, it was both in the opposite direction of the building I had left, and I hadn't set anything on fire since the night before last.

I slithered closer.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ochre Fountain 4.14

Walking down the street in flesh and blood again, I got to within a block of whatever the commotion was before I realized it was a fire. I slid off my bags, pushing them under a dumpster. Freed of encumbrances, I darted forward. A single man in red was smoking, and carrying a firearm while facing the street. He had to be a guard, which meant something was going on in there. What were they burning? It didn't matter, as I heard a quick burst of gunfire. I had no time to worry.

I sprinted straight at him, without a sound. I ran through patches of black shadows cast from the buildings, and I felt it. The same joy from the other night, the release of a fight- and I swung the baton across, hitting the sole guard in the throat. He went down, gurgling. I stopped, tapping him across the temple with the taser portion before I zip tied him.

I heard another batch of gunfire, and ran again, keeping against the wall to remain hidden. Black Flame and Orange Flame, from the first night were sending a cone of flame, and a long stream of smoke respectively, full of what looked like coals, into the upper windows of a building. The only door facing them had a dumpster in front of it, and as someone banged on the door, one of the half dozen men shot into it with an AK.

I could hear men and women screaming inside.

Oh no.

The joy turned to ash in my mouth, and I sprinted forward again, closing to the nearest of the armed six. I couldn't let them keep shooting into the building, but shooting me wasn't a good option either. It was too bright for my shadow-form. I needed them to be as blind as they should be in the dark. Blind no matter what light was cast. I _pushed_, and I could almost feel my mind twisting into alien shapes, understanding what darkness was. To see through it, to make it impenetrable, and to obfuscate.

I swung the baton, oily shadows trailing like streamers passing into my targets left shoulder, and he screamed. The rifle continued firing even as he flinched up, before it emptied. He tried to swing the butt of his gun into me as I passed him by, but he missed. His swing was blind – literally blind, as his eyes had gone completely black.

I swung again, gaining more than I spent, and hit my next target right next to his eye. With a sickening sound, my baton damaged it, bone shattering, probably irreparably, even as the remnants of his eye and his functioning one turned black. He let go of his rifle to grasp at his ruined eye socket. I caught it, time seeming to slow as I reached for it, and swung it around. My baton wasn't even halfway to the ground yet.

The sharp _ratatatat_, was followed by the gun jumping in my hands. I shot for a full second, bullets slamming into the two to my left, before I spun back. I took a step back, close to the blinded two, expending energy from my inner pool as guns turned towards me. All three of us fired at the same time.

They missed. I didn't.

Both went down, the sounds of their pain tiny after the gunfire. I had tried to shoot all four in the legs, as I still didn't want to kill them. A burst of fire interrupted my thoughts. I pulled the trigger, aiming at Orange Flame, only to hear a click. I dropped the gun, twisting on my heel to run away, and re-engage at my favor. A twirling line of burning smoke nearly intercepted me, but missed as I slid underneath. I would have left in order to re-engage, had Orange Flame not decided for me.

Someone had forced the door open, enough for a hand to stick out. Even with flesh blistering, the brave soul behind it tried to push the dumpster away. Until his hand was engulfed with fire, as Orange Flame blasted the doorway.

I couldn't leave them in there. I changed direction, sprinting towards Black Flame.

He responded by firing a wall of smoky coals at me. I twisted, trying to run out of its reach. Panicked, I felt them burn my right leg. I strangled a scream in my throat, leg smoldering. I only had one use of my strange dodge ability before I started glowing. Glowing would be bad, but I had to stop them somehow.

Those two bastards were going to keep burning down the building, regardless of who was in it. I stepped around a telegraphed blast of fire that would have burnt my legs.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another trail of burning smoke whipping towards me. I twisted, and it followed, missing my neck, but wrapping around my arm before I could pull it away. I screamed, this time, as my entire left arm was engulfed. I dropped, cradling my arm, causing the burst of flame to go above me. The smoke dissipated, and I ran away from the burning building, away from in between the two capes.

I needed to hide. Too much light for my shadow-changing power. I ducked the whip again, topping of my inner pool. And wasting my emergency dodge wouldn't work. Both Black and Orange fired as one, and a blast of fire and a blast of smoke met above my head. It felt like the entire top of my head would ignite. I could only imagine how those people trapped inside felt, suffocating in the smoke and heat.

I _pushed_ once more, and regretted it. Time stopped, and I saw things. I saw the Shadow of All Things. I saw evil – no, not evil, the opposition to everything, something fundamentally other, in both nature and form. That which opposes, tests the limits of everything. I shrunk back in instinctual terror-

And I jumped back, to land flat on my back, as a blast of smoke hit where I would have stepped, and another of flame would have hit my face. I spent more, mark opening on my face, and we were all covered in darkness. Only I, who had briefly understood true darkness, could see through. I ran, ignoring the blast of smoke that missed by a dozen yards, and jabbed with my fist into Black Smoke's throat. I could feel cartilage crushing between my knuckles.

Gloves soiled, I turned to Orange Flame. He had more to pay for. He was burning them in. I sprinted, sickness, pity, and rage all mixing inside me. I laid him out with a punch. The feeling of hate was a much cleaner, simpler feeling, and this man was one I could hate. His faced erupted into fire, green flames licking at his hands as he tried to futilely put himself out. I felt a sense of disgusted relief at using my powers on this bastard like this, regardless of who might have saw the signature flames. I left him, screaming and rolling while the green flames continued to burn.

Hands feeling like they were melting, I pulled the dumpster back. A flood of people, maybe three in Blue gang colors came rushing out. The other thirty or so, including infants, were not. Families rushed out, heedless of the darkness surrounding them, to get away from the fire.

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Ochre Fountain 4.15

A father, holding his daughter's hand, slipped over the still body of one of the armed gang members. I pulled them both to their feet, and keeping a firm grip on their hands guided them out of the cloud of darkness. The dad turned to thank me, but I was already back inside the preternatural darkness. He left, carrying his daughter as best he could.

I didn't dawdle, and turned to help more people out, as several had already tripped, either over bodies or their own feet in the darkness and smoke. All but two of the shot, punched, and burned people had gone still. Black Flame and a shootee were still alive. Orange Flame's face had caved into a bowl of melted flesh. Both of the ones I had batoned were whimpering, curled into balls on the ground. I moved back to the furthest civilians away from me, those still closest to the fire in the building.

"Thank you."

"Praise Jesus, you were here."

"Bless you."

Thanks I didn't deserve, from people I had endangered. Whose lives I had nearly ended by stirring up the pot in the wrong location I still knew nearly nothing about. Fuck. I pulled the last one away, stepping back in to the shadows, watching them flee. I turned to leave, just as I saw a beam of light impact the building. The fire in the hit area ceased to be, and hoarfrost spread across the windows and wall. Freezing lasers. I knew a cape with that power set. I'm pretty sure the entire world did.

Legend was floating above me, blasting the fire out. Legend, one of the three members of the Triumvirate. If Alexandria was a flying tank, and Eidolon was "Fuck you, I win", Legend was a flying artillery battery. He could shoot beams of light, that not only turned corners, but could do just about anything, as evidenced by him freezing the fires in the building behind me _with **lasers**_.

And here I was, in gang colors, surrounded by dead, dying, and crippled bodies in opposing colors. I could feel my mark fade, my forehead clean again. Small favors. A rapid series of blasts smothered the fire on one side of the building, and Legend moved further, hovering over the building. I took my chance, tearing off the blue bandanas on my face, and the blue sweatshirt as well. I dumped them, and ran.

I exited the shadows. The space between my shoulder blades itched, expecting a beam of light to slam into me. I pushed my burned body to move as fast as I could. And then Legend landed in front of me. I nearly had a heart attack, and nearly kept running, aiming to slam a fist of green fire into his face. I stopped though, panting for dramatic effect, and pointed with my burnt arm.

"Fire!"

He shot another laser, offhandedly, right into the blaze. It shot right past me.

"Yes, I can see. Are you alright?"

Nonplussed, I waved my burnt arm in the general direction of my leg. He nodded, and gestured behind him.

"I've called in ambulances at least. Not many could be spared with everything that happened tonight, but within a few minutes you will be able to get medical attention."

I almost asked him what else had happened, before I stopped myself. I was supposed to be a normal unpowered girl. I nodded, and tried to make myself look hurt as I stumbled away. Legend took off, and I felt a wave of relief.

I got out of sight before I grabbed my bags and pulled out my cell phone, dialing a cab.

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I peeled the clothing from my burnt flesh. The long shirt I had worn underneath was almost melted to my skin. I had to take a knife, and bleeding all over the sink, cut it off my arm. My jeans came off without leaving patches behind. Ruined clothes kicked under the sink, I stepped into the shower to rinse the smoke smell from my hair, and body.

Hot water stung on my fresh injuries, but it was necessary. I soaped heavily, not wanting to get infected. My legs were almost entirely bronze now. Barring my new burns, at least. I was turning into metal, and at the rate I was getting injured I'd be a living statue by the end of the month.

Still rinsing, I thought back. What had I seen, earlier? I had _pushed_ with my powers, again. It was near impossible to describe, save for the feeling of imitating something more. I bit my lip, trying to remember.

-And compromised of shadows, blacker than black, _things_ danced-

I slipped, and banged my elbow as I caught myself in the combination of shower and tub. Heart racing, I didn't try to remember anymore. Especially not now, when being stunned in the shower of all places was objectively suboptimal. I stood, turning off the shower. A fluffy towel awaited, and I looked in the mirror.

I was haggard, but with the disguise power up, it didn't show. I spent from my outer pool, gesturing. The tub filled with an ocean of shadows, hazy at the edges, and twisting. On my forehead, the mark returned. My mark, composed of the same blacker than black at the edge of my consciousness. What had I seen? What was it to me? I didn't know, and now I needed to, more than ever.

I picked up the phone to order room service. A quick few orders later, and a series of what could be called meals was in preparation for me, set for delivery half an hour from now. I sat on the bed, towel around my hair, along with another around my torso, and turned on the TV.

"-and multiple fires are being reported, up to ten at this time. From our first report right at 6pm, to the last one reported ten minutes ago. In addition, we have unconfirmed reports of gunfire and explosions, along with cape activity. We now go to Field Reporter Alex Borstein."

"Thank you, Lori. I'm here with Mr. Chris Sheridan, and his daughter Emily, who escaped one of the earlier fires."

I was surprised to see the father and daughter pair I had pulled off the bodies on TV. The reporter held up a microphone to the father, and asked, "Mr. Sheridan, anything you have to say about tonight's tragedy?"

"How could anyone one do this? They tried to kill us, and we didn't do nothing! We almost didn't even make it out, when they locked the door."

"Who, Mr. Sheridan?"

He didn't respond further, only hugging his daughter tighter, sitting on the bumper of an ambulance. The reporter walked away, and said, "As you can see here, we still don't know the origins of the fires, but gang activity seems to be likely. Back to you, Lori."

I turned off the TV for now. I couldn't stop what I had started. But I could stop the gangs. I could stop the criminals, the people who dragged innocents into their fights. I picked up my cellphone, and dialed the Number Man. I got his voicemail.

"It's Defiler. 10am, JFK."

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Ochre Fountain 4.16

John F Kennedy Airport was, as far as I knew, the busiest in the nation. It was also gigantic, spread over multiple terminals and lots.

And I had no idea where to meet the Number Man. I took out the cellphone from my pocket, but thought better of it. I had his office number, probably. Or secret lair number. I had a moment of temporary insanity, giggling while imagining a fortress on an island, shaped like a skull, with a tiny little phone booth in the corner of the skull's eye office.

Fugue state over, I stepped around a family that was dragging luggage behind them. Maybe ask for a message to be left for him? Of course, would they be able to contact him before he gave up-

Or not, as he contacted me, my phone ringing. I flipped it open, holding it to my ear.

"Defiler. I am in the Dunkin Donuts at the north end of the Terminal."

With that, he hung up. I slipped the phone back into my pocket, and headed to wrong end of the terminal. A quick look at the signs corrected my course, and I saw the pink and orange logo. It was empty save for people in line for coffee, and one person sitting in the back. Picking a location on the Arrivals level meant no dawdlers. In the back of the tiny store the Number Man sat in a suit, with his seemingly ever-present briefcase. And in front of him were two paper cups of coffee, and a plate of donuts. He was reading a newspaper, or at least making it look like he was. I sat down, without an invitation.

"I want intel on every gang," I said bluntly.

He set down the paper, and after opening his briefcase he passed me three fat folders. I looked at the titles and frowned.

"No Mob, and no Adepts? Or even the Minors?"

"Prior business relationships with them, I'm afraid."

Shit. They were the heaviest hitters, and the most effective, respectively. The latter kept to themselves, but were still an issue for the heroes.

I asked, "Nothing you can give me on them, at all?"

"On the mob, I can say that both Rot and Reinc are both in a strong position."

So those two were unassailable for now. I was certain they had been mentioned on the internet as bosses in the Mob before. "And the Adepts?"

He shrugged.

Nothing. Not good. They did have a significant amount of capes. Any information would have been helpful. I'd have to stick with my laptop. Still, I had multiple reasons to ask him here today. I took a sip of my coffee to marshal my thoughts, and my face twisted like I had sucked on a lemon. I pointed over the Number Man's shoulder, and he passed me the sugar dispenser. It took a fair amount to get it palatable. I took another sip, and was rewarded with caffeine-y goodness. I was starting to develop a problem, I thought.

"You also mentioned banking."

He passed me a final folder, and I examined its front page. A card, with my current disguise's name on it, and a list of various numbers. I looked up, puzzled.

"A debit card, and your bank accounts. The last one is the actual account. Memorize it. The previous two are your current accounts for general use. With a call to me, you can have a set of new accounts and cards made, with the previous ones invalidated. Of course, this is all dependent on you putting money into the accounts."

I motioned for his briefcase. He passed it over, and I took out exactly seventy-five thousand dollars. I placed the stacks inside his case, moving them under cover of my back pack. I closed it, and passed it back.

"Seventy-five," I said.

"It will be available within the hour."

I nodded, thinking.

He added, "The folder also contains both a glossary and guide to banking, checking, and such. I thought you might find it useful, especially with your limited knowledge and experience in finance."

"Thank you. How would I go about selling things I scavenged, or replacing equipment?"

"At the moment, I cannot justify further extra help to you."

That nagging sense, one I still hadn't quite figured out, let me see through that. Inaccurate. A shade of truth, but he could push, I was certain. He was deflecting. I didn't push him on it. Instead, I nodded my acquiescence.

"I also wanted to see about my dad."

"At the moment, he is under PRT protection, especially with your past history with the Empire Eighty-Eight."

I hadn't even thought of that, of how me, nearly killing several members of Kaiser's gang, would blowback on dad. Keeping the panic I was starting to feel from showing on my face, I asked, "Is he okay?"

"Yes. I assume you mean to ask if he was attacked, and to that, no. It is a general gesture the PRT makes to those who are affected by a cape in the family."

"Do I need to hire a lawyer, or publicist for him, then?"

"At the moment, I cannot see how it would help. However, retaining a lawyer in your state would be advisable. As a caveat, the best ones, which would be the ones you would want in your current and possible future situations are very expensive," seeing my non-understanding of how expensive, he added, "Several thousand dollars an hour. A case like yours could take thousands of billable hours as well."

Millions then. Something to save up for, then.

"I can contact you again, I presume."

"Yes, and as I said, your smoke screened accounts will be active within the hour. The bottom one is already so, but has nothing in it until I put in the money."

I nodded to him and he stood, tucking the paper underneath his arm while picking up the briefcase. Full of money. "I look forward to more business with you, Defiler."

I echoed pleasantries, and watched him leave. I took a doughnut and ate it. I knew that I wouldn't have a peaceful morning like this for some time. I intended to savor it.

CHAPTER 4: END


	5. Interludes 4ab

Interlude 4a (Legend)

"So far the Simurgh has trumped every other Thinker or pre-cog across the planet. You are hoping that Defiler can do the same to her?" Alexandria asked. She had taken off her mask, Siberian's scar her only blemish.

The Doctor, dressed in a white lab coat over a mid-length green dress, nodded. "She negated every single precognitive in the world with her trigger event, and even now is undetectable. We still haven't been able to locate her, unfortunately."

"I haven't either," Eidolon said, grimacing. He had the opposite of Legend's heroic build, looking like an average office worker, balding and middle-aged.

The Number Man added, "It is likely she has fled the Northeast, possibly even going overseas. Past projections of her possible courses of action have gone from accurate to wildly inaccurate, so it is impossible to guarantee anything. However, her safety is of utmost priority."

Legend tapped his fingers. He interjected, "I admit, it would be very beneficial to have someone who could block or even disrupt the Simurgh. How does that change the timeline?"

"Unknown at this point. Even if Defiler is capable of completely negating the Simurgh, we can't extrapolate further," the Number Man replied.

The Doctor added, "Thus her safety, if not her good health is of the utmost she shows up in your respective areas, keeping her alive, and preferably on our side, is very important. Her being outed was a tragic mistake that could still have devastating consequences. Any chance we have, both to keep her alive, and on our side, is critical. We cannot let individuals like Manton, or groups like the Slaughterhouse 9 get their hands on her."

"She could allow anyone unprecedented freedom in escaping Thinker notice," Alexandria noted.

"Thus her worth," the Doctor replied.

Legend stood. "If I do find her, I will make contact and we can decide how to handle whatever situation she is in. Delicacy seems to be a necessity."

The Doctor nodded and said, "Thank you all for your time. Should we hear anything, we will schedule another meeting."

Legend gave a friendly nod to Alexandria and Eidolon, and ignored both the Number Man and the woman behind the Doctor on the way out. She never spoke, and never even seemed to move, but if she wasn't able to take all three of the Triumvirate out she wouldn't have been there. Insurance on the Doctor's part, or at least in her mind. He harbored doubts that she could even finish one of them. He left the room, walking down the maze-like halls with the ease of long use.

"Door."

The doorway opened in front of him, white tiles changing to grass. The pressure differential pushed slightly on him. He accelerated, flying straight up, and then to New York. Thoughts of Arthur distracted him for a moment, but he pushed them away. Later. He still had work to do.

The ground turned into a blur, even as the sky lightened, as he reached speeds nearly unheard of for anything less than a supersonic rocket. In seconds he was back in New York City, hovering over the Protectorate offices. Landing on the roof, he passed through the automated security and went down into the depths of the building.

With a ding the elevator stopped. The digital marquee at the top read: Containment and Interrogation. Legend left the elevator, stepping out into walls of metal, a sharp contrast from the plush spaces above. He traced a path he didn't like to, one that he rarely had to. A pair of locked metal doors separated him from his destination, up until he waved his issued-phone over the console and punched in a quick code. The doors, labeled 'Morgue', quickly opened.

A blast of cool, sterilized air followed. His nose wrinkled slightly, both at the smell of disinfectant, and of other less pleasant chemicals. Slabs of metal, elevated off the floor, were empty, save for one. A wall of square containment doors covered one wall, and one was open, showing extended rails. Legend stepped up to the occupied slab, standing next to Last Rites.

"Who was he?" Legend asked.

"Stovetop. Blaster 4, capable of shooting bursts of flame. Partnered with Smokescreen, who was seen at the scene, and one of the two responsible for starting a significant portion of the fires last night."

"And his face?"

Stovetop's face had been melted, almost like a scoop had been pushed through his flesh, centering on his nose. It looked like a cartoon, where acid had melted out a section of something. Last Rites, using a scalpel, cut him open, and placed several parts of dried blood into a tube.

"No idea. I want to call it acid or a very high heat burn, but it has the affects of both. I should be able to tell you more, once I start."

Legend nodded and moved behind Last Rites. "Ready."

Last Rites mixed in a saline solution with the dried blood, re-hydrating it. With that, he poured the final solution into an hypodermic needle, and placed it in the crook of his elbow. "Ready."

"Go."

Last Rites pushed the needle in, wincing, and depressed the plunger. He went limp, and Legend caught him, keeping him from flailing or injuring himself. Within a minute he was back to normal, and Legend helped him stand back up. His brown hair was plastered to his face with sweat, and his normally tan complexion was pale.

Last Rites' power was nothing as easy as his. Legend waited patiently for him to speak, only guessing how hard it was to, after what he saw every time he used that power.

"They were blasting away at a cape dressed in blue, who was trying to let out the people in the building. Shadow powers, she made that huge area of shadows you reported. And then once she hit them with the shadows, she punched Stovetop. Nothing else, except burning, and then he died."

"Thank you. I know it's not easy for you," Legend said, steadying him as he wobbled. "Let's get you upstairs, and get something to drink."

Legend took Last Rites' arm over his shoulders, and supported him all the way to the elevator.

"I think I saw green," Last Rites added, as Legend pressed the button to close the doors.

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Interlude 4b (Fecal)

"And all I am saying is that we shouldn't have to fucking be out tonight," Cook said.

Behind him, Nymph and Punching Bag walked silently. The stairs were narrow, and they had to go single file to get up into the office. Cook knocked on the door and waited.

"Enter."

They filed in, standing before the Boss's desk. She was a younger Italian woman, plain of face and dress. And was one of the most terrifying people he had ever met. She didn't yell, didn't scream, and rarely raised her voice. When she got mad, people _vanished_. For all that she took care of her people, Cook included, she was scary.

"Ma'am."

"Cook. And you two. I want this fucking mess cleaned up, and I want to know why it happened. It isn't good for business, and it isn't good for our position. Start where the car wreck and bodies were found, and work out from there."

"Ma'am."

Cook turned to leave, motioning for the other two to follow. Without a word they did, Nymph closing the door behind them. The stairs led into a bar, which was barely half full. Cook clenched his fists at who he saw there. He moved quicker, not wanting to be seen by her.

"Well, look who's here!"

Rabbit Ears smiled, her face lighting up with glee. Her overly loud voice drew the attention of the entire bar, and she stood, hands on her hips. Cook kept walking, trying to ignore her.

"Hey, Shiteater!"

"Cook," Cook ground out, stomping out the door, Nymph and Punching Bag following.

The bar noises were cut off by the door shutting, and Cook walked outside, shivering a little. Neither of the two with him said a word as he pulled out his keys, unlocking his car. As usual, Punching Bag took the passenger, while Nymph got in next to Fantasy in the back seat. Fantasy, who was currently a pair of dolphins f-

"Fuck, man! My car!" Cook snapped.

Fantasy, now a breathtakingly gorgeous woman, huskily said, "Sorry, Cook."

"I don't need _that,_ all over my back seat."

A slimy tentacle poked tentatively out, resting on the center console.

"Or that!"

"Sorry!" a watery voice said.

"Keep those to yourself," Nymph added.

Cook sighed, and turned the engine over. A long night ahead.

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"It's Shiteat-" The man in red was cut off as he hunched over, retching.

"Cook! Fucking Cook!" Cook shouted.

Nymph, exiting from the floorboards, slammed the gang member back down into them, even as he continued to retch.

"You must be a masochist. If you didn't call me _that fucking name,_ I'd use peppers or something."

Fantasy, now an amorphous blob, was blocking the horde of gang members from reaching Punching Bag. She was cowering, arms over her head, even as the majority of the gang tried to hit her, desperately flailing, only stopped by Fantasy, who had changed into some sort of snake/centipede. As one, they started gagging, and collapsed as Cook looked over at them.

"Now, you can answer my questions."

"Fu-hurgh."

"Want to try again?"

"Whadda ya want?" he asked, slightly more politely.

"Who killed your people with the car, and that whole scene?" Cook asked, patiently.

"We don't fucking know, its just the-" The gang member started choking.

"Don't care. Who?"

"I don't know! I told you -" With a final clunk, Cook brought his pipe down on the gang member's head, leaving him cursing and holding his forehead.

"Stay here for awhile. We're leaving."

Fantasy exploded out into a mass of tentacles, slamming everyone else standing in to walls, furniture, or each other. Nymph phased out of the floor behind him, pulling Punching Bag up by her waist. Punching Bag stumbled, blinking rapidly as she awoke from her semi-consciousness state.

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"Fecal! Shoot him-" This one vomited, trying to scrape his tongue apart as well. His compatriots followed, disabled. The half dozen men, all unpowered, stumbled or collapsed.

"Nymph, him."

Nymph's arms grabbed him from behind, as she left the grass at his feet. She dragged him to the car, tossing him in the trunk with the help of an eight-armed two-headed Fantasy, relieving him of his gun in the process.

With a series of slamming doors, they got back in the car, and Cook floored it. A quick drive, monotony only broken by the bangs of the passenger in the trunk, until he stopped at a pier. Fantasy walked out of the car shaped like a half-rhino half-snake hybrid and opened the trunk, their face staring down on the gangster with what could at best be described as an unamused look, especially for something made of leathery flesh and scales. Fantasy dragged the struggling gangster to the end of the pier, and held him out over the water.

"I didn't do anything! You-" he stopped, gagging, as Cook made him taste.

"So, you're wearing blue. I'm guessing that means you know who attacked your little pals in red. Want to explain?"

Spitting, the hanging blue-clad man said, "Don't know anything-"

Cook looked at his nails, affecting an uninterested look, even as his target dealt with his power again. He stopped, and glanced at the man. "Now, 2nd round?"

"We got hit, someone stealing our money and guns. Bosses say-" he said, until he started sputtering again.

"Thank you for your contribution. Nymph?"

_Crack._ The man went limp in Fantasy's grip as a cone of red expanded from the back of his head. Nymph lowered the smoking pistol. "Time to go."

Nodding, Cook motioned for Fantasy, a wheel of legs, to follow.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"-and both of them think it's the other. For all I know, it could be, and they aren't communicating."

Behind her desk, Reinc nodded, tapping a pen.

"And that is all you have to report?"

Cook could feel sweat accumulating on the back of his neck, even in the cool office. He didn't think she would kill him off-hand, but he hadn't gotten anywhere by not trusting his instincts. And they said to give more information, regardless of accuracy.

"Only rumors after that. Lots of talk about shadows, if that means anything," He added.

Reinc nodded, once more, turning to the muted TV. In closed captions at the bottom of the screen, it read -

'An unknown shadow cape was reported to help evacuate from fire, survivors say'

'In other news, the Strange Scientist has again taken control of a New Jersey insane asylum. We now go to an interview with his former assistant S-'

"Good job. Tomorrow, make our presence clear. I don't want anymore of this petty fighting going on where we do business. Make the point very clear."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Go. Nymph, stay."

Cook left, leading Punching Bag out. He felt bad about leaving Nymph, but much better at getting out of her office. A nice cold beer sounded damn good. At the bottom of the stairs, walking into the bar, he was greeted with,

"Shiteater's back!"

"Cook!"


	6. 5: Operation Wyldhand

Fifty-two.

Arms burning, and unhealed flesh stretching uncomfortably, I dropped back down. With shaking arms, I slowly pushed myself back up.

Fifty-three.

My knees hit the carpet, as I left the pushup position. I shook out my arms, and wiped the sweat off my brow. A quick dabbing with a dry towel, and I headed into the shower for the last time. I had to check out of the room this morning, and I didn't know how soon I would get another chance at my own bathroom.

A quick examination in the shower revealed my first injury – Sophia's hole in my stomach – had disappeared, reverting back to flesh. The rest of my wounds were still metal though. I felt relief that I wouldn't become solid metal as I kept accumulating injuries in the future. And... a pinch of guilt at the reminder of Sophia. She was still dead, by my hands. Joined by many others now.

What could I have done different, in the heat of the moment? Sophia had pulled a knife on me with the intent to kill me. The various gang members had tried to kill me, and had been members of organizations that dealt drugs, along with other serious crimes. I hadn't gone about any of it the best way, and that I could fix. That I would fix.

A few minutes after the shower almost everything was packed and ready to go, including my newly gained intelligence. My satchel contained both that, and my laptop. I'd study today, and start scouting again tonight. Scouting. Not butting into situations I knew nothing about blindly. Dressed, I put my remaining clothes into a suitcase, and zipped it back up. I looked over the room one last time. And checked underneath the bed. I had everything. Most importantly though, the money. Time for a new place.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Coffee, again. I could see why my dad drank it every day. Probably necessary. I was in a coffee shop, specifically, one that had wireless internet. It was a toss-up to find one, but one with both internet and quality coffee and food was a nice find. Finishing up my scone, I continued my search.

I was looking for apartments. Hotel rooms were nice- but I didn't want to stay in them constantly, and they had far more people, and potential observers or witnesses. With my ID, fake though it was, it should have been easy to get an apartment, preferably with furniture provided.

But it wasn't. Some asked for a Social Security number when I had called them, and others wanted proof of employment, and the vast majority wanted references. None of which I could provide. Larger buildings, presumably owned by a company that managed them, were the worst by far, generally asking for all three. For three hours, several coffees, and two scones, all I had was a half dead battery on my cellphone and laptop.

Once more into the breach.

A smaller building, four stories, but near Central Park. Expensive, too, but at this point I was flush for cash. And most importantly, on its ad, they were not asking for references. I dialed.

"Lawerence Hilton-Jacob Group, how may I direct your call?"

"I wanted to inquire about the Morningside Heights property," I said.

"Well, the lease is 12 months, and we still have several open at this time. If you go on our website, or stop by our offices, we can start an application-"

I cut her off, expending part of my inner pool. At this rate, I wouldn't find anything before lunch, or even dinner. "Miss, please. I just got to town, and my other apartment fell through, and school has already started. If there is anything I can do, just to get an apartment now."

The line went silent, and I almost gave up, and ended my call, before she spoke again.

"I'll transfer you to the property manager, directly. He can answer your questions."

"Thank you," I said, real gratitude in my voice.

"Transferring."

I held the phone away from my ear as muzak blasted out. With my other hand, I looked up the information I would need to sell this.

"Miss?" The muzak cut off, and a man spoke.

"Hi," I said, dropping to around two-thirds empty. My voice turned, well, girly. Imitating Madison, really. "My apartment didn't work out, and I'm already starting at Columbia, and I need some place to live. I can't keep living out of hotels!"

"Well, we do need that paperwork if you are to become a resident-"

I cut him off, burning what I had regained, "Maybe if I did a security deposit, or something?"

The line went silent again, but this time I didn't worry. Security deposit, or more accurately, bribe. The man slowly spoke, as if thinking hard, "If you doubled the first month's rent, in addition to the actual security deposit, that would work."

"Great! So I can come by, like now?"

"Yes. The additional security deposit should be on a separate check-"

I interjected, again, "Oh, could I do cash on the additional? I don't want to put that much on my checking account."

He got much friendlier. In a much more polite tone, he said, "Sure. That's fine. You can pay when you come in, and then get you your key."

I hung up after pleasantries. I had some place to live, and some place to take a shower. And someplace less likely to give me bedbugs or be broken into, like a motel.

And for now, I planned to stay here in the city.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I sat down on my new bed, in my new apartment. It had cost more than I had liked, nearly six thousand dollars, when the bribe was included. But, I had a furnished apartment under my fake ID, and someplace more secure to store my things. I opened a suitcase, and pulled out a stack of money. Nearly half a suitcase was full of money.

How much damage did I do with one backpack load? With two? Even burning the drugs?

Not enough. A brief skim through the folders had been illuminating. They made at least half a million dollars a day in drugs sold in the city alone, with most of their bigger income sales coming in from the sale and distribution to the rest of the gangs throughout the east coast, and that's before the prostitution, underground gambling, and other crimes were added into things. I didn't know how the Number Man got his information, but he even had theirproperty taxes. I flipped through the folder with a red label on it. It included a projection of the most likely short term actions by the gang, centered mostly on what they would do tonight. At its header, it noted that any projection beyond tonight's was likely to be guesswork, and likely to be inaccurate at that. But the important part? That vital parts of their empire would be vulnerable.

So, question is, do I act on this or not?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The neighborhood was fairly nice for the Bronx, so far as I could tell. Three story brown townhouses lined the street, and of the selection of cars parked on the side of the street, none of them had faded paint. I found my target's house, and knocked, feeling uneasy in the light in my current form.

I slipped right in through the space between the door hinges as it was opened. I moved along the baseboard, and shot into what had to be a hallway closet. I felt the sense of wrongness evaporate as I was shrouded in darkness. Footsteps passed my hiding spot, and the bar of light shining on the golf bag I was resting on disappeared with a click of the light switch.

I exited my hiding spot, moving from the kitchen to the counter as I watched a woman move into a lighted living room, her back facing me. I saw the stairs and moved upwards to the second floor. I peeked into each bedroom, and the office. The first room held his daughter, talking away merrily on her cellphone. The second held his son, and- and I quickly made sure to slip back out of his room, feeling my cheeks turn red even while in shadow form. The third room was his and his wife's. Mikail's, that was. Mikail was the local Bloods' leader, and like his name suggested he had an ego consummate with the position.

The Number Man's file, in addition to having a list of his predilections, whether spirits or women, had an extensive history bio. He had been supposedly converted to Islam in prison, but the Number Man's report made it clear it was a sham. Primarily to attract other recently converted convicts to his banner, and to give himself the veneer of legitimacy. Once out of the prison, he had triggered due to an unknown event, and quickly dismantled the gang's previous leadership, nearly a decade ago. The only remnant of his supposed faith was his name, which the file had noted as a name of an Angel.

From there he had built himself and the gang up, using both his own parahuman abilities, as a Mover/Brute, and by attracting new talent, with very serious amounts of money. He had brought the shattered gang back together, and expanded their slice of the drug market.

Just the sort of person who could use less stuff. It was for a good and charitable cause after all.

I crept underneath the door, invisible as a shadow in the barely lighted landing. Even in the dark of the office, I could see perfectly. If I was a safe -

I would apparently be sitting open, right behind the desk. I scoffed, disappointed at the arrogance of this guy. I had been thinking all sorts of ways to to find and get into a hidden safe, and for nothing. Who left a safe out in the open and unlocked, anyway?

I cleaned it out, taking both papers and money. The latter, to obviously fund my enterprise, and the former to start my own intelligence gathering. I couldn't rely on the information just dropping into my lap anymore. I went back downstairs, sneaking a fraction of my head through the stair railing to check on the living room and kitchen. Still good.

I made it to the door, before realizing an unforeseen complication. The deadbolt was locked via key, even on the inside. A complication which I immediately solved, by taking what had to be the Mikail's wife's keys out of a bowl by the door. Unless he liked that much pink, I digressed. I unlocked it, as quietly as possible, and then closed it behind me as I left the house. I didn't lock them in, on the off chance of a fire. Keys in hand, I thought about how to get to my next target, before I noticed something quite useful.

And then I picked out the beeper to a car from the keychain. I pressed the unlock button on it, and an SUV beeped in front of me as it unlocked. Well, I wasn't going to complain. I opened the driver door before tossing my backpack into the passenger seat, and with my body reverting from its shadow state, pulled out of the line of cars on the street.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My cell phone's alarm woke me up. I flipped it open, to check the time. 9:20 pm. More importantly, I checked my pools. Full. I had let my disguise go, as I needed as much as possible tonight if everything was to go off without a snag. I opened my backpack, and pushing past the evening's current spoils, pulled out my gear. I got dressed, putting my formerly worn clothes back in the backpack. I set my mask on the passenger seat, and rifled through the backpack for non-essential papers. I littered the car with invoices, after taking a peek at them. Phase one of plan 'Use it or lose it', complete.

Finished dressing for all but my mask, I drove out of the lot, heading out of New York City.

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The Port of New York and New Jersey was still the largest port on the East Coast, even after Behemoth's attack nearly two decades ago. He had attacked across the river, after-all, rampaging through Brooklyn and then Queens, before being driven off by a cavalcade of heroes. They had suffered significant losses but the majority of the city, and the Port had been untouched.

Still, business was down, and had spread out. Cities weren't the hubs of civilization they once were, as Endbringers tended to go after them first. Thus, the Port wasn't operating at full capacity, even though their Dockworkers still had jobs, unlike back home at the Bay. With less commerce occurring, there were spots that were unoccupied by their official users for substantial periods of time, leaving their unofficial users time to conduct their own business.

For instance, tonight. The Blues were removing a twenty-foot container from a ship, theOceanos. Sixteen of the twenty feet contained clothes, made in sweatshops from South America. Behind a false door, the next four feet contained crates of cocaine: at least five million dollars worth. Almost a month's whole supply, given Blue's smaller cocaine trafficking operation. Marijuana was their primary earner, but the cocaine was a significant portion of their income as well.

I pulled on to the curb, and parked the SUV right at the fence that was separating the eastern portion of the Port from the road, before putting my mask on. Shouldering my backpack, I stripped the two front seats of their floor mats. I tossed the keys across the road, and walked up to the fence. It was covered in razor wire, which I didn't particularly want touching me. And, with the mats, I wouldn't have to spend a shadow-dodge phasing through the fence. A nice bonus. Holding one in each hand, I flung them, and the mats caught on the wire. Cautiously, I scaled the fence, using the mats to cross the wire. A ripping noise alerted me that I had torn my jeans. A tear, about five inches long, right down my leg.

Rolling my eyes as I dismounted, I bent my knees to take the fall, and steadied myself with my hands. I stood, wiping my hands off on my jeans. The lack of lighting in this particular area didn't bother me. Of course, the flood-lights being turned off was intentional. Someone, or to be particular certain someones didn't want to be spotted. I walked towards my target, careful to stay away from any lights. I stopped, and peeked around the edge of a stack of containers.

A crane, which I supposed should be called a container crane, was moving a bright blue container off of a ship. I looked at my watch. Three minutes early. Unfortunate, but I could deal with it. Sitting in the area directly in front of the ship was a mini semi-truck, scaled to fit the container. Four cars, two of them blue, were parked around it; none were parked in front of it. One on the left of the truck, two on the right, and one behind. They might have been early, but it seemed they really did want to help me here, whether they knew it or not.

I moved, crouched low and staying out of the two spots of light that were shining down from the ship. I wasn't spotted, and pressed my back against the grill of the semi. Checking around the corner, I saw that no one was looking in my direction. Two knots of gang members, all in plainclothes, were talking and smoking, while a particular one, probably the leader by his significant amount of jewelry, was talking into a walkie-talkie. Presumably guiding the container down. I reached over, stepping out, and tried the driver's door.

Unlocked. I opened it gently, and, as I got in, shut it the same way. About a minute before the container was down. I looked, and saw the keys weren't in the ignition. I checked the flaps before smothering a laugh, as I found them in the center console, along with a large foam cup. I made sure to lock the passenger side door before I selected the truck key, obvious from its logo, and prepared to stick into the ignition. I didn't want the lights to come on before I was ready to leave, of course. I set my backpack on the passenger seat.

Watching over my shoulder, I saw the container come down, and with a slight rocking of the frame, it was set down on the truck. The probable leader yelled something, and several of the out of uniform Blues shut clamps and started attaching the container to the truck. I breathed in, then out. Focusing.

Actually driving a semi was a bit different than looking it up on the internet, after all. Academically, I knew how. There was no time to test like the present. I pushed in the clutch, and put the key in. Twisting, the engine roared to life, and I grabbed the clutch as everyone behind me started. I gently put it into first gear, applying the gas. It clunked, as I didn't quite get it right, but I was moving.

I could barely hear shouting and yelling behind me, as my steal-ees were realizing they had been had. I went into second gear, and took a gentle turn, heading for the spot I had memorized. The vehicle wasn't quite going as fast as it could for some reason, but I saw a light labeled "Jake-Brake" on and I made the connection. Truck not going as fast as it should; Lightswitch with the word "Jake Brake" on it lit. Yeah, I needed to turn that off here. After flipping the switch and feeling the truck gain more speed and momentum, I soon saw ahead of me a wall of containers blocking the fence line, though one spot had a notable absence of obstacles. Just as planned then.

I slammed through through the gap, soon going more than 35mph and 3rd gear. This latest shift of the clutch came with significant ease. The fence split, and fell to the sides, surprising the now pursuing cars, who all squealed to a halt to avoid the fence as it bounced back inwards.

I moved over to the highway to make it over to Staten Island, and then to Brooklyn. Noting the time, I pulled out the second item I had acquired for tonight: A new phone, with two numbers programmed into it. I hit speed-dial one. As it was picked up, I interrupted the answer.

"Mikail. Or should I say Jeremy. You know, you really should pay your bills on time. This one from Time Warner seems rather urgent."

The sudden inhalation of breath that cut off his brusque greetings told me I had hit the mark. I added, "Also, safes don't work if you don't close them, Jeremy."

"Who the fuck are you," He ground out.

I clicked my tongue. His file noted he had an inferiority complex, and playing to that would only help. I belittled, "Now now, Jeremy. You shouldn't use such language. Adult language doesn't need to be so coarse."

"Who, the fuck, are you?!" He ground out slowly, though given the volume of his words he was all but shouting.

"Well, call me a concerned citizen. Now, if you want me to return the items I have taken, along with the ones you haven't noticed me taking, you'll meet at the abandoned power station in Brooklyn. The one right off of the 278 Interstate. See you there!" I said, cheerily.

I hung up, and looked in my side mirrors. Another car had joined my pursuers. I had given the Reds roughly thirty minutes to assemble, and reach the location specified before me. Of course, they wouldn't be there to make an exchange, they would be there to kill me. Or torture me for information, and then kill me, but I had other plans. The intelligence summary on them had noted that a probable response time for tonight, to that rough location, at this time of night, would be thirty minutes. Or, roughly the time it would take me to get there as well. So we would meet on the road, rather than in the abandoned transformer station.

I checked behind me again, and saw two more cars join, both blue, and fall into the convoy behind me. They could just run me out of gas after all. That, and they neither wanted any damage to the cargo, nor to draw attention to it.

I pushed speed-dial number two.

"PRT, New York City branch."

I activated my powers for the first time since I had woken up. I said, in a saccharine tone, "Hi! You don't know me, but you might know of my work. Remember those sixteen or so gang members I shot? And killed with a car?"

"Excuse me, miss-"

"Look, transfer me to your supervisor, because it's going to be messy~," I sing-songed. Selling this part was pretty important. I listened to the muzak, nodding my head.

"This is Director Wilkins, head of the New York City PRT."

"Oh good, someone with authority. Well, like I said, I murdered those fourteen people with my pistols, and then the two with the car. Yes, yes, I know, it hasn't been released to the public. Credentials, of a sort. Now, I want you to listen close. The abandoned power station by Interstate 278. I'm going to make a much bigger mess. Buuuuut," I drew out, "If you can grab them first, I'll let you have them, in... twenty-two minutes."

I could hear a pen scratching, before he asked, "Have who?"

"Oh, why, everyone of course." I hung up, and lowered the window. I chucked the phone out. My mouth tasted foul at making light of that night, but needs must. Phase two, complete.

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As I pulled off the Interstate, I had over a dozen cars trailing me. A veritable horde, the majority of which were blue. I blew through a red light, honking the truck's air horn. The cross traffic slammed to a halt. I honked repeatedly, turning left. Of course, my maneuver turned my following cluster into a game of Snake. I smiled as I saw a pair of red cars, parked along the side of the road. I blasted the horn at them, and with the window down, yelled, "I'm a concerned citizen!"

Lights flicked on, and they pulled out, jostling for space in the conga line of cars behind me. I was fairly surprised, I hadn't thought they would be here so soon. Still, it would only help. I turned right, slowing down, and grinned at what only I could see in the dark. I powered out of first gear before saw my target, two miles down the avenue. I built up speed, seeing what my call had done, as various cars joined the line behind me, not wanting to get in front of a semi truck. Small as the truck was for a semi, going 45mph was still enough to ruin anyone's day.

I leaned forward, looking into the sky, and saw that I had been taken very seriously indeed. And it was going better than planned, now. I pulled my cell phone out my of pocket, and noted no service. With this, I could be satisfied. I returned my phone, and I rolled down my window. Just don't stop me yet. Don't stop me yet. Not yet, not yet, now!

I unbuckled my seat belt, and wrapped it through the steering wheel. I took item number 3 from my backpack, and placed the brick on the accelerator, holding it down. With a small shiver, I became a mass of shadows, looping my backpack between a barely visible arm, and jumping out the window, came out into a roll, right as the truck punched through an unlocked chain link gate.

I came to a stop against a concrete barrier and flattened out, moving even as cars roared after the truck. I slid behind it, warily peeking out, even as I flinched from the headlights briefly hitting me as they passed. The truck slammed into the collection of cars in the abandoned power yard. A group of the smaller, delivery size trucks, along with several cars faced the collision, surprising both groups.

And that made the Latin Kings, the owner's of the cars, the third party to join the festivities. There, along with some of their friends from Columbia and Mexico, to exchange money for drugs and weapons, respectively. Both were necessary to their operations, what with how NYC was heating up. And, more importantly to me, the meeting had been in their files. Most importantly, they were a key part of the final phase of plan 'Use it, or lose it.'

The semi ended up tangled in low hanging power wires, cables and wires pulled loose as it pushed a pair of cars further into the lot. It twisted, and, falling on its its side, skidded to a stop. The surprised receiving groups paid attention to it, and not the line of cars coming right for them. With a series of crashes and screeches the entire line of at least three dozen cars piled into the lot, with only a few smart enough to stop outside. Men and women, capes and unpowered all, got out of their vehicles, or turned back around, and realized who they were with. Enemies, and weapons were pulled, and threats shouted, even as the whole mess disintegrated into more chaos.

Which crashed just as the semi had, as a beam of light, shooting down from on high, forked, blasting on either side of the mess. A mass of lights came on, and from side streets, PRT vans, police cars, and what even looked like a pair of military-looking vehicles with some sort of big gun on top, poured out. With a series of pop-pop-pops, I could see small objects arcing into the air, and landing around the mess of my making. Pale gas coalesced outwards from the canisters, and a man near one of the armored vehicles, dressed in a suit with a bulletproof vest over it, shouted into a megaphone.

"This is the NYPD! Surrender, we have you surrounded!"

And to cap everything off, Legend, Volcano, a dozen other fliers lit off from around the area. Even more capes, easily distinguishable from the black of PRT officers and blue of police by their colorful costumes, flooded the area from both sea and land.

I slipped away, unnoticed as a shadow, final phase complete.

A brief burst of gunfire sounded behind me before it was cutoff by the thunder and glare of Legend's laser turning something into scrap. I peeked over my shoulder, but couldn't see what had been destroyed.

"You are surrounded!" the megaphone wielding man repeated, shouting louder. "Any resistance will be answered with force!"

No further gunfire, but I could hear metal being rent and torn. And it was coming closer. Damn. Above the incoming problem, Volcano and Flypaper flew, the former with a ball of fire illuminating the area with a red glow, the latter lugging a containment foam gun. Mini-Legend and Flying PRT guy, great. And they had to be chasing a cape, if they were able to break out of the forces boxing them in.

I couldn't let anyone get away: The entire plan had been to devastate the gangs upper and middle leadership, crippling them, and preventing anymore significant strikes. I could allow one to escape, technically, but I'd rather go for a clean sweep.

The sound of a concrete barrier being smashed alerted me that my- no, our quarry was attempting to escape. I could certainly see him better than Volcano or Flypaper could, even with the latter of the two wearing some sort of goggles. Mikail, the leader of a gang. He had to go down, one way or another. The sound of cars, pulling out of the mess ahead, came closer. The police or PRT were coming to back up the fliers, but would they be enough? Two fliers, and however many uniforms on the ground wasn't usually enough to keep a Mover down, let alone when the target was also a Brute who could probably break out of all but the heaviest coating of foam if it hadn't yet had time to harden.

Mikail was following the street we had driven up, zigzagging slightly as he moved, presumably to make himself a harder target to hit. I was still ahead of him by about fifty yards, and even as the distance decreased, I was still ahead of him. I hid in a pothole, double checking to see what was pursuing him. Two cars, a van, and the two fliers. The police and PRT couldn't be sure who he was, so were keeping their manpower focused on the bigger mess. While it made sense, taking Mikail out was a still key point of the plan, and he wasn't playing along.

I waited as a shadow in the tiny depression of the pothole. He stepped over me, and I grabbed his extended foot, just as he took his weight off the other. He went from running to eating pavement, saving his face from being scratched up with his arms crossed. I slid out, pulling my stungun out of the holster and jabbing it into his stomach with one smooth movement. And then I realized I had hit a bulletproof vest. Internally cursing, I jumped over him, even as his arm swept were my legs would have been, had I not kept them as a shadow and moved.

I landed on his right, even as he threw himself up into the air with one hand. Literally, what looked like a one-handed pushup somehow ended with him up in the air. What would have been a pushup for anyone else became an odd twenty-odd foot leap into the air, and as he came down he landed thirty feet behind the pothole, facing me with a look of murder on his face. He even landed on his feet, bending his knees to take the fall. I flicked out my baton in my left hand, and moved forward, a roiling tube of shadows. He slammed his fist into the ground near me, missing by several yards. Above us, the red glow of Volcano's power got brighter as he got closer. With a roar of a fed fire, the ball grew twice over, and illuminated us as well as an afternoon sun.

I squashed a reflexive burst of panic, as the light started to tear at my flesh. I had to keep him down, otherwise the Reds would be able to function where the others could not. One way, or the other. My pistol was full, and ready to be used, if needs must. I sprinted forward, surprised as I found I was slower in the light. Damn, not a good time to learn the drawbacks of my shadow-form. Five yards away, I stuffed the still extended baton into a pocket, coming to a halt. A fist whirred through air as Mikail attacked where I would have been. I didn't know what was wrong with the shadow-form, but light certainly didn't agree with me, and I didn't want to find out anything else out the hard way, especially with a Brute trying punching my face into a concave shape.

I drew my pistol, body solidifying into a smokey mass, even as Mikail shouted, warding his face with his hands. I shot him twice in the leg. It was possibly a deadly wound, but with the police around I expected ambulances to be nearby, and for him to receive medical attention very soon, notwithstanding the inherent toughness his Brute abilities seemed to give him.

He gave a short, sharp scream, even as he tried to pinch the holes closed. It wasn't easy, especially with him rolling around on the ground. A blast of containment foam hit him in the back, coating his torso. I looked up, and flinched away from the ball of fire not twenty yards from me. I hadn't paid as much attention to them as I should've. Which was even more clear, as a blast of foam nearly got me too.

I ran away, dodging another pot shot of foam, as one of the following cars stopped off at Mikail, with the other car and van continuing after me, not even slowing. A crackle of static, and then someone in the cop car shouted via bullhorn, "Unknown cape, you will stop running and surrender!"

Nope. I cornered the nearest building, heading for the river. Plenty of warehouses, old style ones at that, were around here, and I had my pick to chose from. I turned again, running parallel to the road, and the vehicles, ignoring the biting pain from the closing light. Almost. Ahead of me, five stories of almost entirely windows loomed. All unlighted, except for the outside of the building. Perfect place to hide in, and lose my pursuers. They couldn't cover every exit, or square foot even.

I saw a ground floor window to my front and right, and angled to it, raising my pistol. I shot five times, hitting it twice. Even with it being the size of a barn-door. The light was really getting painful. I reached it, and jumped, sneaking through like a snake of shadows. I could hear the vehicles squeal, tires protesting as they raced up the side street, futilely trying to reach me. I ran through the building, stepping around desks, crates, and boxes.

A row of windows loomed ahead, facing our impromptu drag race site. I could see levers on them, meaning they were open-able. Perfect, as I wouldn't have to shoot or break them in order to escape. And cursed, as a row of sirens shot past me, and stopped, another two cars blocking this side, and more going around, out of my vision. A pair of the spotlights mounted on pintles through the windshields radiated light, one almost clipping me before I dropped down.

Maybe I should have used the pistol. I ran back to where I had entered, noting my original two pursuing vehicles had stopped, shining lights on that side of the building. Well, there was always one direction most of them couldn't follow. I moved to the doorway, with just a sliver of the north side, facing the river, visible. I shot the window, with ease compared to being fully lit up. A hole in two panes would be sufficient. I then ran back to the two new cars, and emptied the magazine, shooting out their rear windows through the warehouse's windows. I ejected the magazine, and after switching it out for a fresh one, pulled the slide back, chambering a new round. Which I promptly emptied again, blasting away with the full magazine, putting more holes in the cars, away from their occupants, who had scrambled out of the seats, to behind the engine.

One more reload, empty magazine exchanged for a full one, and I re-holstered the pistol before running to the river. I slipped through my two fresher holes, and winced at the feeling of the bright red light on my body. I sprinted to the river, a surprised shout coming above me. Damn. I passed another building, and jumped into the river, holding my breath. Disguising, murky water surrounded me, and hid me. I swum away, angling to the concrete pier next to me, guiding myself on it with my hand.

The water started turning faintly red, and I swum faster, head pounding with the need for air. I couldn't leave the water, which was my only protection from the hateful light. I couldn't, couldn't leave. Strange feelings, that it was a home, a lover, a mother welled up in me. I was somewhat certain that it was just water, though. I kept swimming, even as the light stopped right where I had jumped in.

Vision greying out, I went to option K or so. I accepted the feeling, that it was a power, that I should thrive and live and love in the water. The sea, a mother who loved indiscriminately. I accepted it, and my breath didn't return, so much as stretched out. I made it two-thirds of the way down the pier before I floated up, sticking my mouth above water to suck down air. The water almost seemed to part before me, such was the ease of my movement.

I surfaced again in the river proper, noticing the lights staying around the pier area. Anyone else would have had to come up for breath several times by now. I swam, with the skill of a fish, up the river, currents ignoring me as I headed for Manhattan.

I swam with long, powerful strokes. The red light was down to a dull gleam, through the foot or so of water above me. Two hundred yards away, the bay I had dived into curved back around. A pier, outcropping, or fill- whatever it was called, jutted out. I headed straight for the edge of it, not to get out, but to keep my bearings. I figured it was due north, and I could see the tip of Manhattan, a forest of buildings, poking above in the same direction.

A closer glimmer of light alerted me that I wasn't alone. A high-powered flashlight was dancing across the water, and several more were flying above me. I surfaced for breath, only letting my face come above water. A quick gasp, and I was back underneath.

I flipped over, and could see through the murky, dirty, disgusting water with ease. Above me, Ballast floated on a cardboard box. Even soaked and collapsed, it supported her weight. She could make anything, literally anything, remain buoyant with just a touch. Notable examples included cars, sections of buildings, and large rocks. I didn't know if she had a time limit on the power, but it allowed her to stay out of the water, even if she had to take her shirt off to use as a flotation device.

Three fliers, hard to identify with the lights occluding my vision, were looking for me as well. A bit too many. I reached the pier, with only one more stop for breath. Hand against the slimy concrete, I looked back up. A helicopter had joined them, along with two more over the initial fight area. They really wanted a clean sweep as much as I did.

I kept swimming, hand touching the wall to keep my course. Ahead of me, I could see that little island south of Manhattan rising from the water, at least a mile away. But whatever my new power I had just acquired was, it let me swim with ease. It was almost as easy to move in the water as it was to move on land.

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I saw a beach, right up against the sea wall. It only covered less than a hundred yards, north of the small docks, but it would be enough for me to get onto the island. Climbing several feet of wet, slick seawall straight from the water was firmly in the realm of the impossible, without further expenditure of power and glowing. Three more times surfacing for breath, and I breached the beach, shivering. I hadn't realized how cold the water was, or I had just ignored it while I was moving.

I ran up the beach, and stepped over the foot or so of wall separating the beach from the paved road. Several buildings were lit by floodlights, and I could see several people in the distance, but none near me. I moved across the road, and into the backs of houses, all with their lights on, and two with people in the front yard, staring across the river at the helicopters flying in Brooklyn. I followed the alley, careful to avoid any patches of light that might expose me. I reached a clearing, and moving through a forested area, an unlit building, and another patch of dead grass, I was back at the river.

Half a mile to Manhattan proper. I hadn't planned to have to swim across, but it was certainly better than being caught. And running away from the crime scene would have probably attracted more attention than disappearing into the river. Of course, had I not gone after Mikail, I would have gotten out free and clear. Worth it, in the end though. I rubbed my freezing arms, and stepped into rocks separating the island from the water. I carefully navigated over them, not wanting to slip and break my head. I put a foot in the water, and it actually felt warmer. I waded in, and pushed off from a rock, heading to Manhattan. Much warmer. And just as easy as walking. It only came with the side-effect of getting me soaked, along with all of my spoils.

I checked behind me halfway across, and saw that the helicopters were circling around, flashing their underbelly spotlights on the ground and water. Maybe I hadn't been the only one to escape. Unfortunate, but entirely possible. I'd just have to clean up later.

I touched a wooden pole, driven into the riverbed. I gripped it, and hauled myself on top of it. A series of poles, four wide stretched to a building. An old pier, by my reckoning. I stood, wobbling slightly, and then sprinted across them, a step on each one. And I kept my balance all the way, terminating in a jump on to the building proper. I shimmied on the ledge, all the way around the shorter face, and then jumped down, the buildings facade staring me in the back. Several cars passed by in front of me, as the road curved around, splitting right and into the opposite direction. I removed my mask, wiping the river gunk off my face as I did. I exchanged it with a wad of money from my backpack.

Which was naturally soaked. I pulled a soggy hundred out, and put the remainder back in the bag, zipping it back up as I did. I waited, and the third cab I saw wasn't carrying passengers. I whistled, waving my hands as well. It pulled to a stop, and I ran to it. I opened the door, and sat down with a squelching noise.

"Hey! What do you think you are doing? You're all wet-" The cabbie protested, before I handed him the wet bill.

"Fine. Where we goin'?"

"Harlem," I said, using my hands to keep my hair in front of my face. I didn't have a disguise up, so I had to rely on natural methods.

He grunted, and the cab started moving, back onto the road. I figured he was satisfied with the payment for that distance. Probably three times what it would cost, normally. But I didn't have time or the inclination to quibble. The ride was silent, save for the faint noise of the radio. I wasn't interested in small talk. Harlem was a bit north and east of my apartment, but yet again, my lack of disguise forced my hand, so that if I was identified, they would look in that general location, rather than near Columbia. We drove up the eastern edge of Manhattan, and I got a good quick look at the remnants of my plan.

It was hard to see, several miles out, but I could see the faint pulsing gleam of police lights, and several more helicopters had joined in, with at least two easily identifiable as news choppers, if only from their bright color schemes. It made sense, with probably half of the local Protectorate out in force, that the media would be all over the event. I turned my head, leaning back in the seat, as they passed out of my vision. Another island, this one connected by a bridge, caught my attention. I really needed to double check a map. Learning more landmarks would be helpful for navigation purposes, and acclimatization.

We passed by another strip of land jutting out, and what I thought was the Bronx. It was a bit difficult to make out. We exited the highway, turning west by my reckoning, and into Harlem. The Driver turned his head slightly, and asked, "Now where to?"

And I was stumped, momentarily. I didn't really know anyplace in Harlem. I mentally shrugged, and was about to tell him to drop me off here, so that I could walk back.

The sound of gunfire in the distance cause the cab driver to slam the brakes, and me to nearly bang my head on the seat in front of me. He was frozen with indecision. I wasn't. I pulled another wet hundred dollar bill out of my backpack, and dropped it in his lap. I got out, as he sputtered nonsense, surprised at the amount.

"Get out of here," I ordered as I slammed the door shut, carrying my backpack in my other hand. He u-turned in the road, and drove off without another word. I pulled my mask out, and put it back on, followed by my backpack. I could hear more gunshots, more distinct, in that there were less of them now. I took off at a run, straight for the fight.

If it was gang members, they were probably reacting to their leadership situation. Either taking it out on each other, taking it out on the surrounding populace, or fighting another gang for some perceived issue of dominance. No matter the reason, it was time for me to clean up.

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Harlem was mixed territory between the Reds and Blues, so far as I knew from my brief perusal of the files I had. I hadn't focused on territory, as I was more interested in doing damage to their financial backing rather than their manpower. I knew enough though: that it was roughly as heavily populated as the Bronx in terms of actual gang members, but less important in their distribution networks.

Which meant there shouldn't be any fighting occurring here, what with the richer and juicier territory to the north. Even if the Mob or Latin Kings were attacking, they would hit the Bronx, or the Port like I did, in order to deal the most damage. Which left either a vigilante, or a rogue being the target of their aggression. Probably to relieve some of the tension I had generated by attacking them. Which made it my fault, and my problem.

I pushed myself, running as fast as I could. Avoiding streetlights was fairly easy, what with the lack of them. Harlem and the Bronx hadn't taken the constant low level recession caused by the Endbringers very well. Manhattan, as a center of finance, and with its overabundance of shelters, was much better off. Both areas had an unenviable abandonment rate for housing and commercial property, as the numbers provided by the Number Man had shown. Property values were down, sales taxes were down, and incomes were down to finish the trifecta of economic woes, making it a perfect breeding ground for crime. And someone else had gotten a hint, or had outright copied my idea to try and hit their money. A good plan, but for a hero with a lackluster power, or power set, trying to fight a gang with hundreds of members and an easy dozen capes was a recipe for disaster.

The sound of firearms became sporadic; a few shots a minute, as I got closer. Either the hero was taking them down, or the gang had them cornered. I passed through a row of dumpsters and trash cans into a street with activity on it. The intersection had been blocked off by several cars, not so much parked together as clustered. Doors were open, and some had engines running. Nearly a dozen men and women in blue, primarily men, were plinking away at an overturned bus. Or, more precisely, with my perfect vision, I could see that at least it's front, not front bumper, but the lower half of its front had been annihilated, with fragments scattered across the road. In between the bus and the gang, space warped, and a chunk of asphalt scattered, spraying across the intersection as dust.

Definitely a cape then. Unless a Tinker had started giving away rayguns. I moved, angling towards the gang member on my far left. Baton flicking out with ease, I was silent as a ghost descending on them. Until one turned, as he pulled a magazine out of his pocket to reload his gun, and shouted a warning on seeing me. Fuck. And to top off my bad luck, the familiar wail of Air Raid sounded, before the bus skidded back, trailing sparks, and finished with a short pained scream of metal on asphalt and the person who was hidden behind it.

I drew my pistol with my left hand, and gripped it with significant unfamiliarity. It was time to start training with my left hand to equal my dominant right hand then. I pulled the trigger, gun jerking in my hand, and the turning gang member who let out the warning took a single bullet to his shoulder. The same arm, including the shoulder, that was holding his shiny metal pistol which he dropped with his injury. I didn't have time to look at his reaction, before I sent five more rounds into the two gang members carrying the Aks. One was hit in the stomach and chest, and the other in the thigh. Both became much more concerned with their injuries than me.

Air Raid's signature wail alerted me to the danger, and I rolled left, even further out of the street, ending up with a bruise and a new position on the sidewalk. The street behind me shattered with the force of the air blast. I came out of the roll, and aimed at Air Raid. I got off a single shot as I ran, before I was hit. With only one foot touching the ground as I sprinted, I was thrown off balance, a burning pain erupting in my right shoulder. Another piercing arrow of pain slammed into me, right in my right forearm, nearly making me drop to the ground. I had been shot, twice. I could feel blood, dripping and pulsing out of my new wounds. The bullets burned in my flesh, hot spikes of pain.

Not good, not good at all. Even now I was feeling lightheaded from the pain and shock. I dropped down into a slide any baseball player would be envious of, terminating my maneuver right behind a parked blue car. Bullets sprayed shards of glass as they destroyed the car's windows above me, and with tiny sounds passed right through the car. Cars didn't block bullets, contrary to what Hollywood had told me. So many other things it showed were true, so why was it all the more useful stuff turned out wrong?

I checked the downed AK-wielding members pockets, hoping for a grenade. All I got were some car keys which I pocketed, taking them with me as I put my baton away.

Flat on my back, I stuck my pistol underneath the car, aiming at their feet. Their cavalcade of shots masked mine, and I took out three pairs of feet before my impromptu cover flipped over me, accompanied by the distinctive wail of Air Raid. I raised my arm, and shot out the street lights above and behind me, rolling away afterward. More bullets impacted my former position.

I was about to die. I was on my last legs, hands shaking, body cold but for two sharp points, less from the half-dried clothes and more from the fact that this might be it. The end. Nothing more. No time to make up with my dad. No time to fix my errors. The final curtain call. I shot three times, hitting a gang member in the chest, a brief glimpse of watching her collapse, and rolled forward to the next car down the abbreviated line the Blues had formed. I turned, falling on my butt, and shot the three remaining streetlights I could see. I ejected the now empty magazine, and reloaded.

With a half-moon, their chances of seeing me dropped dramatically. And it was my only chance. I squeezed out three more shots, hitting the other woman, and then sprinted for the bus. Another wave of bullets hit my former position. They really weren't screwing around. I reached the bus unmolested, stopping my bleeding through force of will. I couldn't stop the sharp points of agony from my new wounds however. I grabbed the edge of the bus, and swung around. The cape, a white haired girl in a black costume, was stunned, possibly concussed due to the bus having knocked her a few feet back as it was pushed by Air Raid.

I grabbed the white haired semi-conscious girl, dragging her further behind the bus, all the way to the opposite end. I laid down a blanket of shadows in the shape of the letter T, inner pool of energy nearly empty due to the action, covering both us and the gang in total darkness. Bullets flew through the swirling darkness, but they were shooting at the other end of the bus. I was on my knees, steading myself, breathing heavily from pain and panic. I leaned out from behind the bus, and aimed, carefully.

I emptied the pistol- at least twelve shots, I couldn't be sure – into Air Raid. He stumbled, as two hit his chest, and another tore through his leg. He fell, putting pressure on his chest wounds with one hand, and on the leg wound with the other. That done, I half-dragged, half-carried the girl with me, and pressed the unlock button on my piflered key.

The car to my right beeped, even as the gang shouted at each other to stop shooting. One had already been hit by stray fire, and I could see him panicking, trying to stop his arm from bleeding. I dropped the girl in the back seat, and then, with a single smooth motion, slid into the driver's seat and turned the key. My backpack was an uncomfortable shape against my back, and I had to adjust to the unfamiliar encumbrance. The engine roared to life, and purred as I shifted it into first gear, pulling out of the melee. Bullets whizzed past the car's previous location, and a few passed through the trunk. I sped off, heading for my apartment.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I stopped the car a block away from my apartment, gloves slick with my own blood. I turned the engine off, and with shaking hands, got out of the car and braced myself against it. I stumbled to the other end, and opened the door. Pulling the girl out by her head, I took her in my arms, bridal style. I paused, and carefully walked to the fuel door, which was luckily on my side. I took off my mask, using the trunk to keep the girl up. I kept the mask in my left hand, before switching her weight to my left, and pressing my right hand against the fuel door. Green fire wreathed my hand, as I punched the fuel door. I retook her weight, walking away. A glance over my shoulder revealed that the car had burst into flames, gas tank fueling a fire, with only a small portion remaining green.

I carried her in my arms, with ease, as I walked the remaining block. I hadn't realized how strong I had gotten, even with my injuries. She was heavy, but not heavy enough to strain me to the point of crippling. I pressed her against the door of my building, balancing her with one arm, as my other hand fished for my keys. I opened the building's door and caught her before she could fall off my arm. A brief elevator ride up, and walking into my apartment, I flicked the lights on and carried her to the couch, and set her down gently, careful not to disturb any wounds she may have received.

She tossed and turned, slowly regaining consciousness. I sat down in a chair facing the couch, and then set my backpack behind me, and pulled out my mask, and put it on quickly. No need for her to ID me right away, but having a friendly environment would be very conducive to negotiations. Friendly in so much as another cape could be in these circumstances. A hero on my side would be very helpful. With my left hand clasping my now unholstered pistol, and pressed against my wounds, I extended my weakened right arm. I shook her gently, and her eyes snapped open.

The girl awoke, sitting straight up in surprise. She then winced, presumably at her injuries, and laid back down, before she noticed me, along with my unholstered gun. She froze, body becoming rigid before she marginally relaxed, more than likely from the lack of restraints. She looked up at me and asked, "Who are you?"

I shrugged, as much as I could with my wounds. "Someone who decided to help out. Taking them all on wasn't smart."

She scoffed, and replied, "I almost got away with it, too. Before the rest showed up. Four bangers with guns weren't a serious problem."

"And yet, I had to pull you out of there."

She blushed, easily visible past her domino mask. Anger and embarrassment, if my theory was correct. "I didn't ask for your help!" she snapped.

"And if I hadn't, you'd be dead," I snapped right back, irritated. Having taken a few bullets to pull her out of certain death, I felt entitled to be a bit annoyed.

Her face flushed, and she turned away from me, looking at the couch cushions. I added, questioning, "What were you doing, attacking a whole gang on your own?"

She turned back to me, face returning to its normal color, and answered, "Whoever was hitting them before had a good idea, so I thought it would be my big break to hit them the same way."

A new hero then. One who wanted to be acknowledged for her abilities and reputation. I could certainly sympathize, and this might be my eventually 'in' back into the realm of heroes in the publics eye, if I could get her on my side

"So you wanted to imitate whoever had hit the Crips and such before?" I ventured.

"Well, yeah. They did serious damage," she replied more confident apparently now that she was sure I wasn't going to harm her out of hand, before adding, "And they got major press for it, too."

I nodded, thinking.

"Who are you, anyway?" she said, frowning at my blank visage, focusing on my mask's mouth line.

Should I tell her? Having a hero in my debt might come in quite handy, especially if I wanted to flip to the good side, or at least maintain a cordial relationship. I needed to get stronger, in order to fulfill the Number Man's prediction of being a cape capable of standing against the Endbringers, but I could do that as a rogue too. If I only attacked villains, what would the PRT and such care?

Mind made up, I answered her,- "Defiler."

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline, "Defiler? As in, national news, killed Shadow Stalker, Defiler?"

Not what I wanted to be remembered for, but at least she knew who I was, "Yes."

"Bull. I may not remember much, but I saw you throwing out that darkness power. You aren't Defiler, 'cause she has that green fire power."

Rolling my eyes behind my mask, I reached behind me and pulled out a soaked wad of papers from Mikail. Useless until now, they would illustrate my point. As I crumpled them into a ball, I ignited it with the green flames, letting the flames dance in my hand. On my forehead, a black disk formed, unseen by her. If needs must, I could reveal myself that way too.

Eyes fixated on the burning ball of soggy paper in my hand, she said, "Oh."

It burned down to nothing within the space of a few seconds. I tilted my head at her, and asked, "Satisfactory?"

She nodded, and quickly said, "Yes. Yes, you are Defiler."

I mimicked her nod, and replied, "Good. Now, since I saved you-"

The girl interrupted me with an excited, "Can I join you?"

Nonplussed, I looked at her closely. Maybe girl wasn't quite the right word. Young woman, probably a few years older than me. And she, a hero, wanted to join me? Someone who was essentially persona non grata to the entire hero establishment? I answered her with a simple, "What."

She waved her hands, wincing at pains, probably from the fight, and said quickly, "Look, you are nationally known. In the major leagues. Like, you aren't the Slaughterhouse Nine, but you are on the news, like all day. Can I join you?"

I answered, somewhat slowly, as I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing, "I'm not quite the shiny example of superhero-hood, and I've been attacking gangs with a fair amount of regularity."

She nodded, "And that's why. You always win against them. And when everyone figures out it was you here, you will be all over the news. You've been stealing from the biggest gangs in the country, without a single loss."

I declined to mention my gunshot wounds, and said, "You realize, I am firmly identified as a supervillain. There isn't really any turning back from that."

"That's fine. Look, you don't have anyone else, right? Like, you need a team? I want to join."

"Let me think," I said.

She acquiesced, falling silent and looking at me expectantly. Did I want a team? Having another set of eyes would be very useful for watching my targets. Another driver, another attacker, another person. Someone I could rely on, an ally. That would be rather nice, not having to do everything myself. Especially with the Number Man no longer being a consistent source of information.

"I'm the one in charge of this team, then," I stated, more than asking of her.

"Of course," she acquiesced, "You've got the recognition and powers."

I pulled my mask off, and she nodded slightly at seeing my forehead's black disk. Confirmation for her, I supposed. I offered, "Taylor Hebert, or Defiler."

My real name didn't faze her, probably because it had been on the news so much. She extended her right hand, and said, "Damsel of Distress. Nice to meet you, boss."

I took it with my left, shaking it awkwardly, "I'd use my right, but I have bullets in me."

She turned a bit green, and then waved her hands slightly, "That's not a problem, then?"

"No, but I think I am a bit giddy," I said, "I might need some time to get them out."

"Huh. So, what do we do now?"

Operation Wyldhand 5.7

What do we do now, she had asked. I didn't quite know. I stood, motioning for her to follow me. I told her over my shoulder, as I led her to the apartment's bathroom, "First, the bullets. Then we can plan. You weren't injured much, were you?"

"Just sore," she said, before gently touching her back and wincing, "And a scrape or two. I've had worse."

In the bathroom, I took off my jacket and top. Modesty be damned, I needed to see how hurt I was. I frowned at the grimy shirt, wondering just how much of the East River I picked up during my little swim. Small favors that I had been shot after. Damsel averted her eyes, sitting on the closed toilet. I tossed the shirt in the hamper and looked over at her, "How long have you been a cape?"

"Two years or so. But every-time I come here, ready to make it big, I get sent home with nothing to show for it but aches and pains."

My shoulder had a thin film of dried blood, extending out in a v-shape from my gunshot wound. The hole on my forearm, aside from having a partner on the other side of my arm, was much cleaner. The bag with my drugstore purchases from last week was under the sink, and I pulled it out, removing the bandages.

"Pass me a few sheets of toilet paper, please," I said to her. She ripped several off, and handed them to me. As I wet them to clean off the blood, I could see her internally debating something.

"What is it?"

"Uh, it's, just... Uh, could you turn the light on? It's pretty dark in here," She said, waggling her fingers in front of her face.

Ah. Right. She didn't have night-vision. I leaned over, flicking the light-switch, adding the overhead light to the faint illumination coming from the lights outside the bathroom.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. So, like I was saying, two years."

I nodded, less from a need to respond, and more from a lack of anything to say. Forearm clean, I wrapped it, before pinning the bandage together with a safety pin. Now for the shoulder. Did I have to remove the bullet? Would my healing power work, with something in the wound? Using my fingers, I did a closer examination. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, torn and tender flesh moving, but I could see the dull metal, about an inch in. Right underneath my collarbone, and barely missing the rest of the bones in my shoulder. Lucky.

"So you were the one," she asked, making wavy motions with her hands, "doing that whole mess?"

"Hitting the gangs? Yes."

"They are pretty mad," she said sounding impressed, and with a hint of envy.

"I destroyed over a million in drugs, even before tonight, and stole over two hundred grand. I'm not surprised they're angry."

"A million- and did you say two hundred grand? Cash?"

"Cash," I confirmed.

"Wow. What did you say about tonight?"

"I wrecked a semi full of five million bucks worth of cocaine, right in the middle of a gang meeting, and called in the Protectorate to pick them all up."

"Then all those helicopters were from you?" She asked, now very impressed.

"That, and Legend, and probably three dozen other heroes."

"Uh, wow. Can I say, that I'm really glad I've signed on with you?"

"Sure," I said, bemused, before asking her, "What exactly is your power?"

I could see her face darken slightly, but whether from a blush or from anger, I couldn't tell. She said, "I can't demonstrate in here, but I can warp space."

"Warp space? Like, tear it apart?"

"Yes. So, the plan is to keep robbing gangs?"

I shrugged, but only with one shoulder. I didn't want to move the injured one. "I'm not sure at the moment. I hadn't seen the effects on them. For all I know, they are still going strong, even with their now reduced manpower."

"Five million is a huge amount, Defiler. Or, Taylor. What do you want me to call you?"

"Either is fine," I replied. I didn't particularly care.

"Taylor, when we aren't public, then. Like I said, five million is a huge amount of money."

"Nearly an entire month's supply," I confirmed, adding, "For big deals and for local usage, both."

Damsel pulled off her domino mask, and said, "And if I'm calling you Taylor, you should call me Daphne."

"Nice to meet you, Daphne," I said, mostly from habit.

"Same. If we make more money, I could really use a new costume," she said, pinching her shirt with her hand, and releasing it. She wore black – all black – clothing, a skirt, long sleeve shirt, and a vest full of doodads. I could see what had to be a cellphone, and what was probably pepper spray. We both didn't look very professional, now that I thought about it.

"A set of costumes for both of us, then. Well, not immediately. No one else knows I am here, in New York, and I want to keep it that way for some time," I said, finishing my contemplation.

"Sure, so you can make a bigger entrance, right?"

"Not quite, but that's not too far off my train of thought," I replied. I pulled my knife from its sheath at my belt, and put it over my wound, leaning forward as well to get a better look.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Daphne asked, looking askance at me.

"I need to get the bullet out. I'm not sure if my power can heal it, otherwise."

"You can heal, too?" She said, surprised.

"Yes. It just leaves my flesh bronze for awhile," I said as I gestured at my varying wounds.

"Handy."

"Yeah," I grunted out, as I dug the tip of the knife into my wound. A trickle of blood accompanied the cold metal pain. Gritting my teeth, I dug further into the wound, getting leverage underneath the bullet. My other hand was nearly cracking the cheap counter, as I gripped it tightly from the pain. I felt the bullet catch, and pulled it slowly out, wound probably twice as wide. Blood pulsed out of it, before I stopped it with a burst of will. The bullet fell, and landed with a tink on the counter.

"You okay?" she queried, now looking at me with concern.

"I will be," I let out, through gritted teeth. A quick rinse, and my knife was clean, and I set it on the counter to dry. I wiped off the new blood from my shoulder, and started wrapping it in a bandage.

"Tomorrow we go out, get some money?"

"Tomorrow, we plan. And get supplies."

"Okay. So, would it be possible for me to stay here then?" She asked.

I nodded, motioning towards the living room. "Take the couch. We can talk in the morning, when we aren't falling asleep."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I woke up, and went straight for the shower. I hadn't taken one last night, and I felt gross. Both from the night, and from the swim. I opened the bathroom door, and immediately turned right around, blushing. A shouted, "Occupied!," accompanied me.

"Sorry!" I squeaked out, slamming the door behind me. Who was- Right, Damsel. Or Daphne. Embarrassed, I sat on my bed, and picked out clothes to pass the time. A few minutes later, I heard the bathroom door open in the hall, and Daphne walk out. I passed by her, carrying my clothes, and keeping my reddened face looking down, and went right into the shower.

I washed my hair, even though it would take time to dry, as I had no idea what all had been in the river. Probably half the sewage in New York. Feeling like a new Taylor, I checked on my newest addition to my wounds. Bronze-tinged, but not covered yet. A new bandage for my forearm, and I made a mental note to get some more, as it was my last one.

Dressed, I left the bathroom and found that Daphne was waiting in the kitchen, leaning against a counter.

"You don't have any food," She greeted me.

"Another thing on the list, then. Let's go eat."

"Uh, about that. Do you have anything I could wear? Going around in the same clothes as the Damsel of Distress..," she trailed off, before I finished her thought.

"I don't know if anything of mine will fit you, but we can look," I offered. She was an easy four inches shorter than me, and more, uh, developed. A quick ruffle through one of my suitcases, and Daphne had one of my final shirts from the Salvation Army, along with a Christmas-themed sweater. She kept her dress, though. Together, we left the apartment.

Operation Wyldhand 5.8

Holding the door open, I asked, "Do you have a disguise for your hair? It's uh-"

I stopped myself. That might be an insult. In fact, she might well be very sensitive at the changes her power had caused, or worse yet, they weren't from the power, they were genetic or congenital. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she beat me to it.

"Oh, we can pick up my bag. It has my wig and real clothes. I leave it in a locker in Grand Central whenever I come to the city. That way, I can pick it up on the way out," she said quietly, her fists clenching a bit before she relaxed and added on "which is when I need it. My van is there too."

I swallowed my unnecessary apology. I added, "I'll disguise myself too, then."

"Oh right, you're a Changer," she said, nodding along.

"Right."

"So you can look like, anyone, right?" she asked, looking at me closely.

I nodded.

"So, could you look older? Like, middle age old?" Her staring was starting to get a bit uncomfortable.

"I haven't tried, but I think I can," I responded.

"So for today, you could look older then? Like, for food?"

In answer, I turned the lights off, closing the door. Shadows curled around me, obvious to me, but not to her. I opened the door again, and said, "Let's go."

"Awesome," she breathed, looking at my new face. I couldn't see it, but I knew she saw a slightly wrinkled face, framed by graying hair.

"It does have it uses," I candidly admitted, locking the door and motioning for her to follow.

"I bet," she replied, as we moved down the hall. Faint shouting came from a door as we passed it, and by unspoken agreement, we hurried past. She opened the door for me, and we walked outside.

"Where are we?" she asked, still following my lead up the street.

"Near Columbia."

"Uh, so where are we?" she repeated.

"North-west Manhattan," I clarified.

"Ah," she said, falling silent. I waved down a cab, this one a van, rather than the standard sedan. As it pulled up, the door automatically opened. Daphne followed me in, taking the closer seat as I took the farther seat.

"Grand Central," I told the driver, and the van started moving.

"So what's the plan, then, after we pick up my bag?" Daphne asked.

Eyes widening, I motioned my head towards the driver, trying to communicate that we shouldn't talk about all that in front of a witness. She shook her head, minutely, and said, "And then the grocery store, right?"

"And other supplies, of course," I replied, keeping my voice level.

"Okay, because your apartment really needs food."

I frowned. Either she was letting me know she had caught my drift, or I had totally missed. Well, we could talk later, about acquiring items of a less than legal nature. She seemed to not be overly hung up on following the letter of the law. Which made sense, as she was a vigilante. She embraced the spirit, more than the letter.

"And, can we get breakfast then?" she asked.

"I'm hungry too," I agreed.

A few moments of silence later, I paid the driver, and we stepped out in front of Grand Central Station. We had arrived on the lower level – there was a road curving around above us – and I looked up, not so much in awe, as in some interest. The station was a bit different from the surrounding buildings, being both smaller, at a mere two stories, and significantly fancier. Decorative stone work framed its arches and corners, and it had large glass windows. Impressive, since to my knowledge, it was from an era when glass was far more expensive.

"This way," Daphne said, walking into the station. I trailed her into the station, and passing through the crowds of people, right to a row of lockers. About the size of a computer tower, or maybe a bit bigger, stacked several high and several dozen long. Daphne took a key out, and opened her's. She pulled a backpack out, and made a beeline away. Right to the bathrooms, as I followed at a more sedate pace. I waited outside, not wanting to draw more attention to her, than her white hair already had.

Not two minutes later, she came out dressed in her own clothes, which fit her far better, and a black wig. I walked up to her, and we ambled to a coffee shop. Luckily, we were the next in line, after a hurried man, and I purchased pastries and coffee for us both.

"And now, let's go get my van," Daphne said through a hurriedly consumed mouthful of pastry.

I followed her out of the station, and we walked a few blocks to a parking garage, a subterranean one to be precise. She pulled a slip of paper from her backpack and paid the enclosed teller. We passed his glass box, and Daphne walked up to a green van, not ten cars down from the entrance.

"It's not much, but I got it for cheap, and for cash," she said, slightly defensively.

"Nice. No traces that way, right?" I said, agreeing with her reasoning.

"Right. And, it was cheap," she said as she unlocked the driver's side door. I walked around to the passenger side, and waited a moment for her to unlock the door to let me in. I slid into the seat, and wrinkled my nose at the smell.

"What is that?" I asked, almost coughing.

"The reason it was so cheap. Some stoner, along with his dog drove all across the country in it. Then he needed money, so I gave him a thousand dollars."

"That's pot?" I clarified. Drug identifications were not my forte.

"Yeah. I've tried everything, and it still won't come out. I even left it open for a week, trying to air it out, and it got worse," she griped.

"Ah."

"Mm-hmm. I don't like it either," she commiserated. She turned her key, and backed us out, showing her slip to the machine at the entrance. The arm that had blocked us in lifted, and we drove out.

"Do you know where we can find a grocery store?" I asked, realizing too late.

"No, I thought you would," she replied, puzzled.

"I've only been here a week, and just got that apartment. I haven't really looked around."

"Well, I think there is one over in New Jersey, fairly close. We can try that one?" making her statement more a question.

"Let's," I confirmed.

"Good, because I was already driving there."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ten minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot, and Daphne, after two attempts to park straight, got us into a spot close to the door. I pulled a cart along, taking it from the line of them in front of the door, and headed straight for the vegetables. Daphne tagged along, poking through the isles as I filled the upper portion of the cart. A quick stop through dry goods yielded rice and pasta, and then I topped it off with condiments and sauces, before grabbing a pair of pots and pans while I was at it. A good start. I wouldn't mind cooking again. I yielded the cart to her, saying, "Anything else you can think of, add. I'm going to the butcher counter, to get some meats."

"I'll bring it over in a bit, then?" she queried.

"That's fine."

After a brief bout of indecision, I had a pound of chicken and a pound of beef. And right on time, Daphne pushed the cart right to me. I looked into the cart, which had gotten much fuller in my absence. I set the meat down on its new occupants. I asked, eyebrows raised, "What's all that?"

Tapping her fingers on the cart, she said, "Well, I got chocolate chip cookies, and then pistachio cookies. And then I got some chocolate chip pistachio cookies. Oh, and lady fingers. And I got -"

"That's a lot of sweets," I cut her off, and then looked over the other items. Bottles, and boxes. The boxes were obviously TV dinners and other junk food, but I didn't know what the bottles were. Giving up, not wanting to break her sweet tooth, or insult her, I started pushing the cart to the checkout lanes.

"Well, I can't eat too many, or else I break out in zits, even now. Besides, you're buying the stuff that will keep us alive, I'm buying us some of the stuff that will keep us happy" she said, frowning, even as she paced the cart.

I nodded along, rather than speak. What some would term 'girl-talk' was one of my rusty skills. I hadn't had a friend since Emma, and even then, we never really talked about skin or boys or whatever. The lines were empty this early in the day, and, passing the cashier several hundred dollar bills, we left the store quickly, heading right back for the van.

She manually unlocked the rear doors, and we loaded the bags of groceries into her van. The pot smell was strong enough to give me a headache. Upon finishing, I took a few thankful deep breaths, away from the back of the van as I put the cart away. I got in, nearly half a minute after Daphne had closed her own door. I rolled down my window, cranking the handle as fast as I could without breaking it. Hers was already down.

"I prefer being cold over not being able to breathe, too," she remarked grimly.

I cleared my throat. "Where do we go for the other stuff."

"Other stuff," she parroted, confused.

"You know, other stuff," I clarified, with more emphasis.

"No?"

"Illegal stuff," I said, exasperated.

"Oh! Right. Other stuff. I've got some numbers."

"I know some ways," Daphne answered, looking askance at me, "What for?"

"You need weapons, and I think we both need armor. A bulletproof vest, I mean," I replied, correcting myself. I had two fresh holes in my body, proof that I wasn't immune to guns. And she needed more than lightweight clothing. I could give her one of my guns, but Daphne having her own would be better.

"Uh, what for?" She asked, as we left the parking lot, the majority of her attention on the road.

"Because I've been shot several times already, and burned, and stabbed. I'd rather spend money than be dead."

"Right," Daphne said, nodding rapidly, "I think a vest is a good idea."

"Once we drop this off, let's make the call." I told her, rather eager to get everything now instead of later. We drove north in silence, buildings become smaller and older, and streets emptying. There was still traffic, but much less than by Grand Central, or even in New Jersey. As we passed through rows of townhouses, I realized we had forgotten very important things.

"We need costumes. And a name," I said with determination. That was our image, what everyone would think of when they thought of us. It had to be really good. Had to sell us as maybe not conventional heroes, but people doing the right thing. The necessary thing.

"Right. Because we are a team," Daphne said, more to herself, then to me.

I frowned, looking at her closely. She didn't seem to be altogether, with a vacant smile on her face, and her hands tapping a merry beat on the steering wheel. Were the fumes having some sort of effect on her? Could marijuana smoke have lingering effects? Some sort of delayed release from the shag carpeting in back?

"Daphne," I said gently, not wanting to startle her and cause an accident.

"Tay-lor," she sing-songed back.

"Daphne. Are you feeling okay? Everything fine?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. I was ready to scoot right over the bench seat, and take the wheel. I started inching closer, ready to lean in and take the wheel, just in case. Instead I went rigid. My spine locked up tighter than a steel beam, and something unexpectedly curled around my back and shoulders. I squirmed, and felt blood rush up into my cheeks. Daphne had hooked one arm around my shoulders in an abbreviated hug.

"Daph-Daphne," I stuttered, caught completely off guard. As she released me, I added, "What was that for?"

"Nothing," she said, eyes slightly wet. She rubbed at them with her now Taylor-free hand, her attention now focused back on the road. The red in my face was refusing to go away, and mouth opening and closing, I did my best to hide behind my bony shoulders. What had I said? Done?

"So, costumes and a team name," Daphne said, inexplicably cheerful, before adding, "What were you thinking?"

"Uh," I contributed.

"I know you like green, right? All those big light shows you made in Brockton Bay were green. And you've got that bronze skin. From the healing thing?"

"Right. From the healing. It just takes time for my skin to become normal again," I clarified, relieved. Very happy to talk about something I understood, rather than, than whatever that had been.

"Cool," she replied, hands turning the wheel. I looked out the windows, rather than away from Daphne, and saw the surroundings had become much more familiar. Almost to the apartment. Another turn and we stopped in front of the building. I nearly asked if we were allowed to park here before I spotted a 'Loading Zone Only: 10 Minutes' sign. Daphne opened the rear doors, and we started pulling out the purchases, setting them on the curb. By unspoken agreement, I waited with the bags, holding the cold ones off the pavement. She parked, I assumed, and came back.

"Just around the block," she answered my questioning look. Grabbing the bags, holding them in large clumps, we moved inside.

"I-," Daphne paused, catching her breath after the stairs, "wouldn't mind getting a cot, or something other than the couch."

I didn't respond immediately, as I had to keep my concentration closer. Holding half of my portion of this load, balanced on my knee, while my hand dug through a pocket to pull out my keys wasn't hard, but it took focus. I caught the bags as I turned the key, and pushed the door open with my body. I set them down in the kitchen, and as Daphne followed me, placing her set of bags alongside mine.

"I thought you lived near here?" I queried, even as she followed me to the living room, taking the opposite end of the couch from me. She had said something about returning home, but I had assumed it meant she lived in the suburbs, or something.

"No, I live way upstate. Almost as close to Chicago, as to here."

So, her base wasn't around here? She had said something about getaways, but I had figured she meant another part of the whole city area. Well- I stopped that train of thought, as I realized she was looking at me carefully, as if measuring me. What had I done now -

"Let's go get a new apartment," I gambled.

I could see her eyes widen, and her voice went flat, "What."

"A new apartment. Two bedrooms," I repeated.

"Just like that?" she said, eyebrows nearly to her wig's hairline.

"Yes. Well, I don't have any legal traction right now, aside from some false ID. You've got actual paperwork, right?"

She nodded in response, still silent.

"Good, that will work as a smokescreen, until I can get better ID," I confirmed, and got up, moving into the bedroom. I unzipped my other suitcase, the one without clothes in it. I pulled out a stack, estimating its value by weight. As I walked back into the living room, I sat back down on the couch, and punctuated my return, by handing a stack of money to Daphne.

"Let's get an apartment," I said.

Daphne flipped through the stack, eyes widening comically the whole while, and when she reached the end, she looked up at me. In one move the girl dropped the stack of bills, shot across the couch, and threw her arms around my shoulders and slammed into me. I barely had time to squeak out any form of protest, before she planted a kiss on each cheek.

"You are wonderful," she said, releasing me.

"Uh," I replied, with all grace and intelligence I could muster.

"Anyway, you said costumes and names. I think I might know someone for the costumes. He's never done mine, but for us he will, I'm sure."

"Team names," I said, getting us back on track.

"Team names," Daphne agreed, adding with a smile, "Double D's?"

"No," vetoing that one immediately.

"Awww," she whined, clasping her hands together. Her was face in an exaggerated pout, lower lip wobbling, before she tearfully asked, "But-."

"-Only one of us can get anywhere close to making the pun work," I interrupted with a scowl, motioning at my chest.

"You'll grow into it," she teased, ruffling my hair slightly.

"Still no."

"Well, I'm fresh out of ideas," she said with a shrug.

I pulled my laptop across the coffee table, unplugging it as I did so. I turned it on, and opened up Parahumans Online.

"Seeing what's taken?" Daphne asked.

"Yes. Um. The A- thru C-teams are taken."

"D-Team," she said, wrinkling her nose, "I don't think that's quite as good as the Double D's."

"No to both, then. The Destroyers are taken. And that's not quite the image."

"Hmm," Daphne hummed, placing a finger on her lips. "Maybe, the Doom Patrol?"

I shut that down, with a quick, "And we'd get sued. Copyrighted comics."

She threw her hands up in mock-exasperation, "Why can't they just let the names go!"

"Money," I answered her.

"Well, that's not a bad reason," Daphne equivocated, before adding, "We don't have to stick with D names, especially if there aren't any good ones."

I nodded, and said, "I'm open to anything then."

"Okay. Ladies of the Night? Nightwalkers? Ninjababes?"

"No, no, and no," adding after a quick search, "...You do realize two of those are old slang for prostitutes, right?"

"Umm, the Bosses?"

"Taken."

"The Owners!"

"Eh. Not fond of it," I replied.

"Lawmakers?" She suggested. Another quick search.

"Taken. Government team, with the PRT," I answered, before pausing, "Wait. Maybe."

"Got something good?"

I nodded, thinking. I liked the law part- certainly we followed the unwritten laws, and the spirit of the law. We put it into force where it had previously been shunned, or out right ignored. We gave the protection and benefit of the law to those who had been trampled by those who ignored the law's real meanings. Stopped the exploitation, the strong bullying the weak, and stopping harm from coming to the innocent.

"The Lawgivers," I said with finality.

Operation Wyldhand 5.10

"Lawgivers? I like it," Daphne mused.

"No problems with it then?" I asked, both eager and worried at her reaction.

"It's cool. Lawgivers. Sounds better than Lawmakers, too. And we give the law," she paused, "Wait. Give the law. Shouldn't that be make the law?"

I thought better of explaining my choice for the moment. Costumes were the more important issue, so I ignored her question.

"About that contact you mentioned, for costumes. Can you call them now?"

"Well. He hasn't ever made one for me. I've never been 'big enough'," Daphne said while looking slightly uncomfortable, before making air quotes around the last two words.

I frowned, thinking. We still wouldn't be considered big enough, unless I released my identity to this costume maker. If I didn't, he'd either think Daphne had an equally unimportant friend, or was pulling his leg. Neither of which would be conductive to a business arrangement, unless I conducted it, dangling him off a rooftop, or something. Which I didn't want to do, despite what comics and Hollywood said was effective.

So... We had to be big. Or Daphne had to be big. Famous, even.

"Taylor?" Daphne asked, derailing my train of thought.

"Give me a moment," I answered, sketching a quick plan in my head, "Here's my idea. You said he won't work with you as you aren't famous, and no one knows I am here, or that we are working together."

"We aren't telling anyone?" Daphne interrupted, looking somewhat hurt. Why was she upset?

There wasn't a clean explanation, or even expressible, but I tried anyway, "Not now. No one else knows I am here, as Defiler, and I don't like being known as a murderer."

"Murderer? You mean the gang? I only heard a few shots, so you didn't kill them, right?"

Would she think less of me, knowing I was a murderer? She knew about the first, but not about the rest. Daphne appeared to be pretty accepting, but how would she feel, knowing that I had killed a dozen people - sixteen, I couldn't forget that - in just one evening? Pistol whipped a woman until she could barely move?

"I shot their feet, and Air Raid had a bulletproof vest on," I lied.

"Air Raid?" She said, tilting her head slightly. "Who was Air Raid?"

"The blowing cape who made that wailing noise. He blew the bus nearly on top of you?"

Her lips tightened into a severe line, before she relaxed, and nearly spat, "Oh, him. If he hadn't made that noise, the bus would have flattened me."

"Space warping, right? That's how you stopped it? The bus was missing half its undercarriage, from what I saw," I questioned. If we were to work together, having a better feel on her powers would be necessary. If only to prevent any mishaps. She looked away, keeping her eyes away from me. Was she embarrassed over nearly getting squished?

"They surprised me too, and shot me twice. You saw the bullet holes last night," I said, trying to be supportive.

"I can destroy anything," she replied, her voice clipped.

"Anything? Including people?" I repeated, impressed. That was a pretty handy power. She could be a Tinker's worst nightmare, even if her power didn't affect organic material. If she did, how was she treated so badly? That was a serious power. I didn't have anything close to being that absolutely powerful or terrifying.

"People too," she whispered, shivering. Even I could take a hint that size, so I dropped it. Still, she bypassed the Manton effect. Even I knew about that: The limitation that prevent most cape's powers from working on humans. The people who bypassed it were generally considered to not be fucked with. Narwhal, the leader of the Canadian offshoot of the Protectorate, named the Guild, was one of the handful of capes known to be Manton-free, and she could use force fields to turn a human being into chunky salsa. It hadn't been caught on tape, but there were persistent rumors that a villain had crossed a line, and she had responded with finality.

And Daphne was in that select few. I was feeling very good at this team thing, early misgivings notwithstanding.

"A big splash, to get us the costumes," I thought out loud, returning to the plan for the day.

"Mmhmm. And we can't show off the team yet?" She asked, looking a bit hopeful. And less unhappy or upset, if I made my guess correctly.

This man made costumes for capes. So wouldn't he have a privacy policy, or something? He couldn't just have an office in any old building. Could I reveal myself? I asked Daphne, "Costume guy. He doesn't out capes, or anything, right?"

"No way. He'd lose all his business if he did. Besides, I think everyone in the country knows who you are."

"But not that I am here, or-"

"Right, I forgot, sorry," Daphne hurriedly apologized. "Still, he won't tell anyone. And I bet he would guess the color scheme we'll want. Green and bronze aren't common cape colors, and they are pretty much your signature colors now."

"Make the call then, and say you have someone important for him to meet. That should get us in, right?" I asked, guessing. I couldn't imagine what a costume-maker for capes would want in his client base, but having his work adorn someone famous would be important, if only for advertising value.

"Can I mention you by name?" Daphne asked.

"As Defiler, yes. I don't want people focusing on the 'Taylor' for now."

"Cool! That should get us an in. And we will have matching costumes. Oh, and we can use the team name, right?" She excitedly chattered.

"Yes. With him only, for now," I said, laying down the law. Or giving it. Making it. Damn, now that was bugging me too. It sounded good at least, so I just wouldn't explain it to anyone.

"Calling him," Daphne responded as she pulled out a cell phone from a pocket and dialed.

"I'll meet him," I said as she put the phone to her ear. She nodded, and started a conversation I could only hear part of.

"This is Damsel of Distress, I want to talk to-"

"No, don't hang up! It's important. I've got someone he'll want to meet."

"I'm serious!"

"Defiler. Yes, Defiler. I'm looking right at her."

She pulled the phone away, holding her other hand over the microphone. "He wants to talk to you."

I took the phone from her outstretched hand, and answered, "Hello?"

"Ms. Hebert?"

"Defiler," I said, anger sharpening my voice into a cold cutting edge. I didn't need a reminder of my failures from some tailor. That I couldn't use my name anymore.

"My apologies. I'd like to meet, at the bar at Mulberry and Prince. The Emu Social Club. At-"

I cut him off, asserting control of the conversation and said, "One hour, from now."

"One hour." And the line went dead.

I passed the rapidly paling Daphne her phone, and stood and walked to my room. I needed to load my backpack for an immediate trip. And specialized shopping.

"Taylor? Uh, was that a good idea?" she asked my back.

Raising my voice to be heard from the bedroom, I replied, "Yes. If he's walked all over you, he can't do the same to me, or we won't get anywhere."

"But he might not listen to you, or just tell you to go away, or just ignore you-" Daphne said, voice growing increasingly stressed.

"Daphne," I said, stopping her worried, panicky stream of thought. "You said he wouldn't listen to you. He will listen to Defiler, even if that's not me."

"Okay. Okay, okay. You're right," she said, leaning back on the couch. "I'm just not used to having people listen to me. It's always, oh, it's Damsel of Distress. You must be distressed. Or, knock over any convenience stores lately?"

"Uh," I answered, as I had no idea how to get her out of her momentary melancholy. "I'm going to look around the area, before I meet the - I never got his name. What is it?"

"I don't know his actual, real name, but his cape name is Weaver," Daphne answered, toying with her phone

"Before I meet Weaver, I'll use this disguise to look around, or even enter the bar. Then I'll meet him, and buy us some costumes. Sounds good?"

"Just be careful. Let's put our numbers into our phones. We need to stay in contact."

We exchanged phones, and after taking twice as long as Daphne to put my number in her phone, as she did in mine, I handed it back. I still wasn't quite as familiar with cell phones as my peers - I had only had one for over a week now. And I had never used one like her's before.

"Go find us an apartment, while I get costumes."

"Good luck," Daphne said, waving to me as I left the apartment. I tossed the keys over my shoulder, hearing her startled squawk as they landed in her lap.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cab pulling to a halt, I stepped out into Lower Manhattan, right in front of the meeting spot. I paid the driver, and walked to the Emu Social Club. There was no one outside, especially in the very brisk weather. I opened the metal door, with a white emu spray painted on it, and luxuriated in the warm air blowing over me.

Two rather muscled men, looking like they were trying to smuggle hams in their tight shirts, were doing something behind a counter. They noticed me, and the shorter one, in a disconcertingly high pitched voice, said, "Miss, we aren't open for business right now." I think I'm going to call that one Squeaky.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was looking for someplace to have lunch with my girlfriends," I answered, affecting a ditzy voice, and shocked expression.

"You're looking for the steakhouse across the street, Fiore's," he replied, voice betraying his aggravation.

"Thank you! Such a nice young man. Stay in school!" I said, as I left. The metal door slammed behind me, and I could hear it lock. Eyes rolling, I strolled away, looking for someplace to be me. An alley, going to the back of the club, was perfect. I checked for cameras, and didn't see any. Behind me, the street was nearly empty, and by the time I had stepped back out onto the sidewalk, my purse had become a backpack, and my severe middle-aged look had softened into my own features.

I went right back to the door, and tried the handle. Locked. Figures. I banged on it, three times rapidly, and waited. The door whoosed open, pulled fast, as Squeaky angrily looked out, expecting to see the previous me. Anger turned to surprise, and he asked, "What do you want?"

"I want Weaver," I said calmly.

"And who are-"

"Defiler," I cut him off, before holding up a hand. "Would you like me to demonstrate for you, or should we get to business."

He moved out of the doorway, letting me in the club, before shutting the door and raising a hand. "That's far enough, unless you can prove you are who you say you are."

A quick look around the entryway, and I saw something of demonstrable value. I took a few steps, and backhanded the fake potted palm right in the middle of its trunk. It erupted into green flames, burning to nothing in mere seconds. I turned back to the bouncer, and asked, as politely as possible, "Do you require an additional demonstration? On flesh, maybe?"

"Sorry, miss Defiler. Please follow me," he apologized, before leading me through the club. A wide open dance floor, surrounded by booths and a long corner bar dominated the building, above which a second floor started halfway out over the dance floor, with more booths and tables visible, to me if not my escort. It was very dim in here, roughly twilight level of illumination. A relief to my eyes, too. We crossed the dance floor, and right to a door with a bright red 'EXIT' sign overhead. I nearly opened my mouth to snap that I wasn't here to be joked with, before he touched a section of wall. It depressed, and a door across the corner from the marked exit opened. A secret passageway.

Neat. He waved me up the stairs, and I could hear the door close behind me as I ascended. The staircase was barely lighted, with only a set of lines marking the steps. I didn't have trouble navigating, but I bet Weaver did it to listen to people trip as they came up to his office. Ten steps to go, I steeled myself. I had to be Defiler, not Taylor. Had to be scary, had to be someone not to be trifled with. Taylor was a little girl. Defiler was scary. I reached the landing, and tried to open the door. Locked. Was he not here? Or more likely, he wanted me to knock, and then to say "Enter."

A power play. Two could play at that game, and there could only be one winner. Time to show him who was the real power.

I gripped the doorknob, and bracing my feet, pulled, green flames igniting around its socket in the door. A C-shape, of where the knob had been, burned away in an instant, and the deadbolt clinked to the ground, half melted. I pushed the door open and tossed the ruined knob behind me. "Your door is broken."

Weaver turned out to be a slightly chubby man, sitting behind a desk the size of a basketball court. His suit was neatly tailored, probably perfectly, from what I could tell from my limited knowledge of men's clothing. He wore a green tie, and single gold wedding band on his left hand. Two couches faced each other, perpendicular to the desk, with one facing out over the hidden windows look out into the clubs. Two chairs were set before his desk, and I crossed and dropped down into one. I affected a slouch, trying to convey as much disdain as possible. I spread out all over the chair, legs dangling over one side, with one arm behind me, and the other fiddling with my hair. And I probably looked ridiculous.

"Yes. The door is broken. Defiler, wasn't it?" Weaver said, absentmindedly.

"Yup," I drawled, drawing out the 'u.' His desk had several knickknacks, and I stopped playing with my hair to play with a Newton's cradle.

"You wanted to speak-"

I cut him off, "No, I want a costume, not the run around. What can you offer me?"

"What do you want," he stated bluntly. No more games, then.

"Costumes for Damsel and I. Bronze, green, and black color scheme. Armoring, and enough holsters and such for an assortment of weapons. Cost?" I snapped back at him.

"Two fifty."

"Thousand? They better be good, for that kind of money."

Weaver drew back, actually insulted, finally. He restrained from shouting, but his voice was heavy with anger as he replied, "I don't know what you heard, but I am a Tinker without peer. I am the best with fabrics, period."

"Fine. Two fifty," I said, firmly, while internally wincing at the cost. "How armored will they be, and can you make it stretch, since I am a Changer."

"At the same weight and restricted movements as the clothes you have on right now, enough to stop anything short of a 7.62. You will feel the hit, but it won't penetrate, and the force will spread out, like a bulletproof vest. And I already counted your abilities. Which is why yours costs over twice as much as Damsel's."

"Then you need our measurements, and I'll give you a hundred now. When will they be ready?"

"I have Damsel's measurements, from her attempts to contact me before, and I got yours as you walked in. Anything else? I would like to get to work."

I nodded, removing money from my backpack, and asked again, "And they will be finished, when? And what will they look like?"

"When they are finished. Call for progress. And I create masterpieces, not someone's comic book fever dream. I design them."

I stood, swiping a pair of sunglasses from his desk as I did so. They looked nice, and I had forgotten mine, and I put them on as I walked away. I stepped around the couches, and as I opened the maimed door, I turned to Weaver. "Bronze, green, and black."

Without waiting for an answer, I went down the stairs, pressing the large red panel next to the hidden door to open it. I quickly crossed the dance floor, and headed right out, ignoring the bouncers. The sunlight would have been blinding outside, had I not acquired new glasses, and I sagged in relief and exhaustion. Being Defiler was hard. But, I hadn't been taken advantage of. Hopefully.

I dialed Daphne, holding the phone up as I walked west, away from the club, and further away so that I could disguise myself once more for a trip uptown. The phone rang, and Daphne picked up.

"Taylor! I got an apartment!"

Operation Wyldhand 5.11

"Great. And I got costumes, or at least got them started," I answered, walking to some place to change. I certainly hadn't wanted to disguise myself in the club, and I couldn't travel with my own face. I looked over my shoulder, as Daphne replied.

"Really? How much did he charge for them? I got told it was usually over fifty thousand, but I don't know if they were lying to me."

"Two fifty," I said, slightly worried that I had been ripped off. If so, I was sure a demonstration of my displeasure with his intractability would suffice. Just not today - it wasn't easy being something I wasn't, and being a thug or bully wasn't what I wanted to be. But those sort of people only responded to likeminded individuals.

Up to the point that I was leaving horse heads in their bedrooms at least, at which point it was either mindless terror or berserker rage.

"You got something cool, because that sounds way too expensive. Wait, don't tell me! 59th and 6th Avenue, corner building. Tell the doorman you're my sister, Danielle. Hurry!"

And she hung up. A doorman? What kind of apartment building had a doorman? I checked around me, and seeing no one, pressed up against a car, the mid morning sun casting enough shadow. The familiar feeling of cool, ephemeral shadowy fingers passed over me, and I looked in the car's side mirror.

Subtle alterations to my face and body left me looking like Daphne's younger sister, only with black hair instead of white. And Weaver's sunglasses. I stood, and kept walking, quickly in the brisk wind. I saw a cab pass by ahead of me, at the cross street, and I whistled while waving my hand. And he drove right by, a passenger visible in the back. How irritating.

I waited, looking up and down both streets, until my eye caught a flash of yellow. I stepped off the curb between two parked cars, waving, and he, or rather, she, stopped in front of me. I opened the rear door and plopped in the seat, before shouting over the blasting music, "59th Street and 6th Avenue!"

Her reply was indistinguishable, but we drove off. I could only hope in the right direction, and I was certain I was going to have a headache from the noise.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I was surprised, and very relieved, when the cab finally stopped. On my right there were buildings, but to my left was Central Park. Not quite what I had expected. I gave the cabbie exact fare, not wanting to tip after that impromptu personal concert. I walked up to the corner building, a stately building made of pale stone. A man, in a uniform and looking bored but trying to hide it, was standing in front of the door, right underneath the awning.

Really not what I had expected. I strode right to the doorman, and drew a blank. What was Daphne's last name? He would expect it, if I was to pass as her sister. Well, I could just go around the corner and call. Instead, the doorman removed the choice from me.

"Can I help you, miss?"

Damn. My options were limited, with no power usage if I didn't want to be identified as Defiler. I lied, looking slightly dazed and confused, "Well, my sister Daphne told me to come here, she said something about an apartment, but I don't know where she told me to go, and my cell phone is dead. I can't call her, and I've been trying to figure out what she said, and I had to pay the cabbie the rest of my money on hand, and now I-"

"Miss, you wouldn't happen to be Danielle Waldon, would you?" he interrupted, not unkindly.

"Yes," I said, not faking my relief in the least.

"5th Floor, unit D. She just got here. I'm sure she's waiting for you."

"Thank you so much!" I said, channeling Madison for maximum girliness. The nice warm air felt terrific inside, and I made a show of trying to find the elevators. The person behind the desk- there was a desk, complete with a young woman manning it, was it a hotel? - pointed to her right, and I gave a friendly wave. The far elevator opened, right as I hit the button, and I practically flew in. I pressed the 5, and waited. A few moments later, I stepped out into a carpeted hallway, and headed for the door with 5D on it. I knocked, and not five seconds later, Daphne yanked the door open and dragged me in.

"Taylor- Look!"

Pulled along by my arm into the what I assumed was the living room, I noted the lack of furnishings, the wood floors uncovered. I tried to ask Daphne, "How-"

"See! Two bedrooms, both with a view, and their own bathroom."

I dutifully looked, noting that Daphne had put her backpack in the smaller one, leaning up against a closet door, before I was again dragged further into the tour. She pulled into what was evidently my bedroom, from her luggage placement. A large window looked out to the building across the street, and in the far corner, Central Park was visible. We reached my bathroom after I took a quick glance at the multitude of closets. The bathroom had both a shower and a tub, and she stopped at the tub, which was full of water.

"Look! It makes bubbles without soap!"

Daphne pressed a button on its side, and the tub started gurgling, little bubbles floating up. She turned to me, smiling, and said "Nice, right?"

"Very nice," I replied, trying to figure out how to phrase my question in a way not to hurt her feelings. I had a teammate, who was trying to be my friend. I didn't want to scare her off. "How did you get this apartment so fast?"

"Oh, easy. I just called, and said I was moving my business to the city, and I needed a place for a young businesswoman and her sister."

"Business?" I echoed, confused.

"Business," she grinned perkily, before explaining, "A huge amount of cash just dropping in my account would be a super big red flag, and would end with cops at our door. So... right now I am the proud owner of a catering and food truck company. It's better than dancing, or bartending."

"You own a catering company," I repeated flatly.

"Well, you are looking at the entire staff," she said with a wink, "but yes, I own a catering company," she proudly declared.

"And that works?" I queried, incredulous.

"It's a seasonal thing, and I just hire temp workers to fill contracts. But I have all the licenses and my folks helped sign all the papers! Cash from unknown sources becomes cash from the cash bar, or just payment. Nice and easy," she finished, rubbing her fingers together in the universal sign for money.

"And ten thousand dollars just popping into your account, won't raise red flags?" I pointed out.

"Sure, if I put it in as one big pile. But I just make into four smaller ones, with no round numbers. A good sized wedding, with lots of nibblies and maybe a hundred people, will cost about twenty five hundred. I just slap the extra cash on top, and say I charged more. And even if I don't have a gig, I can just say I did. But I don't do that unless I really need the legal money. You just use the dirty cash to buy groceries, gas, and stuff to keep your legal nice and full."

I digested that, and added, "And you're how old?"

"Nineteen," she chirped, before startling me by pulling me into a hug, "A very motivated nineteen!"

I almost pushed her away - it had been a long time since anyone but my dad had hugged me, and I didn't know if he ever would again, after what I had done. I relaxed, and hugged back.

"No time for moping! We need beds!"

And with that, I was dragged out of the apartment.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You're sure this is the right spot?" I asked Daphne. Damsel, now. She was in her costume, and I was in mine, she with her domino mask and me with my black mask on, respectively. We were hiding behind a dumpster, watching the back of a restaurant from thirty yards away. Harsh white light, from a fixture above, cut through the darkness to illuminate a set of stairs leading to the door. Several men had come out over the past hour, to smoke or chat, and then gone back in. All of them in what Daphne had identified as kitchen uniforms.

"Oh yeah!" she whispered, "Last time they paid me for doing some work, they had duffel bags full of money, and drugs, and then guns everywhere. The Mob has all sorts of goodies. Right in the basement, on the right side of the building."

"Any capes?" I checked, not wanting to be caught off guard.

"Just one, usually. She can listen in to TVs and cameras, but that's it. And the boss, but I've never seen her power, or know if she has one. I think she just shoots people a lot," Damsel said, pondering the last bit. "She was nice when I did that job, though. But we need more furniture!"

"And to destroy the drugs, and stop the associated criminal acts," I added to the list of objectives.

"That too."

I took a deep breath, and let it out. I was topped off, having taken a nap before this, while Damsel kept lookout. I wasn't keen on jumping back into a mess, but this was our first thing as a team, and we needed that. To cement our team, or however teams worked. I wasn't sure, and Damsel had never been on one. A learning experience for both of us.

"Here I go. Got the cell phone ready?" I confirmed.

"Ready to call if anyone shows up. And then I leave, since they know who I am. If we get separated, head back to the apartment, and don't let anyone follow. Otherwise, I wait till you get out, and then we leave together," Damsel dutifully repeated. I had said it several times to her over the course of the evening.

"Sorry," I apologized, contrite. I hadn't meant to be rude. I nearly kept apologizing, before she interrupted.

"Go! It's the dinner rush, so the kitchen will be busy. Now's the time!" she whispered, shooing me with her hands.

I left the concealment of our trashcan wall, and keeping away from any lights, as much as I could anyways, made my way to the door. I was careful where I placed my feet, as the ground was littered with trash, including metal cans. I could only imagine the racket they would cause if I stepped on one, or worse, slipped. A cartoonish cascade of cans pinging off each other, culminating with me landing on my face at the door.

"Left!" Damsel hissed at me, as I was halfway to the back door, causing me to turn around in surprise. "Left side, from this entrance!"

I made an ok sign with my right hand, and not wanting to make any more noise, made a quick back and forth movement in front of my mouth. Hopefully interpreted as 'stay quiet.'

"What?"

Right, darkness. I stepped into a lighted spot, maneuvering around a can, and repeated my gestures. A pair of thumbs up from Damsel confirmed receipt. Most of the people I had known before meeting Damsel had been hopelessly obtuse. Was it just them, or did having four years on me make her that much better at understanding? Or at least, understanding me? Whatever the case, it was a painfully welcome change of pace.

With a new spring in my step, I made it to the back door, undetected by alley cat or moth. Now came the moment of truth. Or, several minutes of fumbling as quietly as possible. I had to move through the kitchen, head to the stairs to the basement, take what I could, destroying what I couldn't, and escape.

The shadow-form was different from the disguise power. In the later, I merely cloaked myself, wrapping a new face around my own. With this, shadows pulsed out of my flesh, and it turned black, before becoming equally ephemeral as the shadows around me. Ready, I moved to the door, and slid right through the keyhole, into a cold storage room. Cardboard boxes, some with vegetables or jars poking out of them lined the walls, except for the two doors.

Not a very efficient layout, if everyone had to go through cold storage to get outside, or come into work. But still, this was better for me, with less people around. Plastic flaps were in place of an actual door infront of me, and I peered around the corner. Five men, each part of the staff were cooking, or in the last one's case, washing dishes. I took a moment to watch the smooth precision with which they worked, vaguely impressed. Not a single wasted movement. Just dish, dish, dish. A waiter came in, and scooped up the three dishes, and went right back out, only stopping to grab a piece of paper, from its hanging location above the food. I'd never seen a restaurant's innards before, but I didn't have time to lollygag.

I waited until all the cooks, or chefs, I didn't know, to be focused on the food, and not on the area near their feet. The moment their attention was fully consumed, I dashed through the kitchen, shooting in between the legs of a metal table, to the far left wall, hiding behind a sink. Not a foot away from me, two feet poked in, as the dishwasher continued washing dishes and stacking them.

No one saw anything, so I moved down the row of metal appliances, counters, and tables, peeking around a new corner. I could see the banister of the target staircase, surrounded by boxes, and next to a set of refrigerators. I looked into the kitchen, and with everyone still occupied, I made a break for the stairs.

Safe. I went down, keeping my eyes peeled, piercing the gloom. No cameras, and no people. Just boxes, chest freezers, and a solitary fridge. Disappointing. I lifted a few suspicious looking boxes, to feel their weight. All too light to be full of money, or have guns in them. The evening was turning out to be a bust then. I opened the freezers, checking them, but all I got for my trouble was a look at more ingredients. I closed the last one, and looked at the fridge. The fridge, taller then me. The fridge, back facing further into where there should be more basement. A lock on the door was disposed of with a quick jab from my knife, and a flicker of green flames. The shackle was cut cleanly through.

I opened the fridge, and instead of cold air, found a secret passageway. Or, more of a secret room. It didn't lead anywhere, but it still had enough in it to keep my interest. I reached into one of the crates, wondering how they got it in there, and pulled out a briefcase, struggling with its surprising weight before I compensated. I set it on the table in the middle of the room, and popped it open.

It was full of banded hundred dollar bills, 'ten k' scribbled across the binding paper. I could safely assume the rest of the briefcases were similarly filled. And that insane amount of money didn't cover the other items in the room. The weapons lining the right wall, easily several dozen rifles, or the other crates, or the box of grenades right next to the opened briefcase.

I unshouldered my backpack, and started shoveling money in. I pulled out another, and was able to top off with a few stacks from a third briefcase. I shouldered my now much heavier backpack, which now weighed an easy thirty pounds, if not much more. I was debating carrying out two more briefcases in my hands, and making a run for it, before my cell phone buzzed in my pocket.

'Capes 4 getout' my new text message read.

Shit.

I texted back, clumsily with one thumb, 'run, meet you there'

I flipped the phone closed, and dropped the briefcases to make a faster run for it. I didn't have enough time to pull out the lighter fluid and douse the money, but I did have enough time, at least five seconds, to improvise. The grenade box held ball-shaped explosives, easily recognizable to anyone who had watched a movie. But, further back in the box, a row of can shaped grenades sat. I didn't know them from their shape.

What I did notice though, was the word 'Incendiary' written across them. I grabbed two, and pushed open the false fridge door, and held it open with my body. I brought my occupied hands up, and put the grenades near my mouth. Opening my mouth, I gripped the pins with my teeth, ready to pull. I yanked hard, pulling the pins out, though feeling like I had nearly tore out my jaw doing it. Still, it worked. I tossed one into the money crate, and the other at grenades, and I ran, letting the door slam behind me. I sprinted up the stairs, drawing my pistol from my hip. I shot down the stairs twice, startling the cooks, even as I shouted on the heels of the gunshots, "Run!"

They didn't need telling twice, especially coming from a mass of shadows wielding a gun, and they scattered, three going into the restaurant, and two fleeing out the door I was planning on retreating to. I could hear people panicking in the main dining room, or whatever was on the other side of the swinging doors. I aimed the pistol back down stairs-

WHUMP.

And I ran away, as one or more of the regular grenades I had tossed the incendiary on exploded. The fridge door flapped open, and I didn't want the next one to spray me with shards of metal. I passed right through the flaps, another explosion behind me. I could hear the people in the dining room panicking quieter, or hopefully, further away.

I pressed the bar on the door, and jumped the stairs, not caring if I sounded like a canning factory with how much I was clinking on the stairs. I landed, sending cans scattering into each other. Beer cans, now that I had a better look at them.

Damsel was waiting at the end of the alleyway and I raced over, grabbing her arm, and pulling her away with me as shadows evaporated from around me. Behind us, I could hear the sound of something large landing amongst the cans, and moving faster than I could, right at us.

We turned the corner, and were followed by a quartet of flying trashcans, tossed by whatever was charging up behind us. Damsel lagged behind me, even with my hand on her arm. The rapid [I]thud-thud-thud[/I] of whatever was chasing us was coming closer, and closer. I yanked Damsel forward, and in one smooth motion, drew my pistol, dropped to a knee, and opened fire.

I hit [I]something[/I]. Not something, in that I couldn't see it, but something as in I couldn't tell what exactly it was. The most accurate way to describe it was a mass of flailing tentacles attached to a horse's body. Bullets hit its chest, little plumes of blood misting out. It gave a faint whine, shuddering. As the gun clicked empty I quickly reloaded, and pushed Damsel along, keeping my hand on her shoulder.

"What is that!?" She shouted right in my ear.

"No idea," I said. Whatever that had been, it was dead or dying now. I squashed the momentary spike of guilt, reasoning accurately that this was not the time. Gun in hand, I held Damsel back behind me, and checked the exit of the alley. Either no one had been on the street, or they had reasonably ran away from the gunfire and explosions. All good, and no other capes in sight. The other three must still be dealing with the restaurant fire. I looked behind me, double checking the now silent freaky looking horse.

It was gone. Panicked, I yanked Damsel once more in the same direction, dashing across the street. We made it, unseen by whatever it was. I pulled her behind a building, peering out to our prior location. I could see tiny little patches of blood in the opposite alley.

"It's gone," I whispered in relief.

The brick wall right next to us exploded, showering the alley with brick and mortar. A child's impression of a rhino/bear hybrid walked through the wall as if it had been made of thin balsa wood. Both of us were wreathed in dust, and I had to stop myself from coughing. Damsel screamed, and the misshapened thing lost half of its face as space twisted in on it. Its now vaporized face had looked like taffy being stretched, before it had reached its breaking point, and with a squelching noise, sprayed a fine red mist all over. Tiny little chunks of rhino-bear face rained down, before it rolled right back into the building, a gurgling growl accompanying it. .

"Run!" Damsel yelled, her wits coming back to her. I followed, mind whirring. What was chasing us? A Changer? It was the only explanation that made sense. It had been real, solid flesh, determinable from the abundant amount of red splatter dusting us. It had changed into two different forms, both unnatural. Possibly more, to catch up with me inside the restaurant. And it had just shrugged off getting its face twisted off, along with a dozen bullets. What the [i]shit[/i].

A [i]thump[/i] sounded above us, and before I could find the reason for it, Damsel spun on one heel and tackled me to the ground. She fell on top of me right as a gigantic lobster landed where she had been standing a moment before. A claw closed with the sound of a dozen car doors right where my head had been. With one hand I aimed the gun and shot one of its eyestalk. An unearthly scream resulted, and it collapsed, claws coming up to shield its face. I had grown up in New England- I knew about how to handle lobsters, even if I didn't have proper sized rubberband for this one's claws.

Damsel pulled me up with her, grabbing my unoccupied wrist with her hand. As I got up, I reversed the grip, pulling her by her wrist in the direction the bear thing had come from. I looked behind me, already knowing what I would see.

Nothing. It was already gone again.

"We gotta stop this thing," Damsel wheezed, apparently out of breath.

"You were able to hurt it," I pointed out, keeping my eyes peeled and watching the roofs for surprise attacks as well.

"That was luck," came her reply, in between the sound of her gasping down air.

"We have to disable it somehow, or it's just going to keep chasing us," I ordered. If she could just wipe out a big portion of it, we could run away while it regenerated. And a bigger chunk gone from its head again meant it was more likely to take out its brain. Except, that hadn't stopped it - Damsel had wiped out half of its skull, and it had still retained enough capacity to try to avenge all the past lobster rolls I had ever eaten.

I added, "Just get its legs then. So we can run."

A bone-chilling howl, from what had to be a wolf the size of a bus, echoed around us. The wall in front of us shifted, and I nearly shot it. Until it warped, sounding like half a brass band, bricks twisting and tearing into fragments. It was Damsel then, rather than our pursuer.

"Sorry," Damsel apologized, breaths still shallow, but no longer struggling to breath. "And I think I need to run more."

"Treadmill. We are buying a treadmill," I answered, trying to think. Where were the other three? And if this was just one, what were [i]their[/i] powers? Instant win, just add water? I had enough power for maybe two big-

The alley might have been dark, but for me it was bright as day. And I saw a thing of nightmares skittering down the alley. It walked on the legs of a spider, but it was not only several times larger than a spider, it had additional equipment. A scorpion's stinger and claws, and the bright coloration I associated with poisonous frogs. And it was coming right for us.

"Damsel," I said, voice flat.

"What?"

"Can you blast something?"

"Uh, what?" she asked, mirroring my quiet tone. Maybe she heard the whatever-the-hell coming closer, too. I grabbed her right arm, pointing right at it. The thing closed, barely a dozen yards away.

"Everything," I said, voice harsh. I could see her face scrunch in concentration, arms tensing. Her hands cupped, she thrust them out, and before them that monsterous thingy tripped. The entire alleyway, save for patches, distorted, colors shifting and objects twisting. A thunderous series of cracks and pops nearly deafened me, and everything exploded. The buildings right before us, starting on either side, two feet or so down, disintegrated in an expanding wave, wood chips and brick fragments spraying outwards like hail. Only a solitary wall and a row of columns near us stood untouched. The remaining sections of roofs, no longer supported by their walls, collapsed. The spider's right side collapsed in on itself, and with a disgusting [I]pop[/I], sprayed fluid about on the asphalt.

Damsel collapsed, right before I caught her and held her up, keeping her upright. I asked, "You okay?"

She nodded silently, sweat running down her exposed face, dust clinging to it a bit. I was actually concerned for her. I had someone to be concerned for. I didn't mind that feeling. I pulled her back, putting my pistol away, to wrap my arms underneath her shoulders.

"Good shot," I said, meaning it. The spider thing was lying all but still, save for its remaining legs twitching.

"Thanks," Damsel whispered, sounding half asleep. Whatever she had done differently, it had certainly worked. Or- I was suddenbly hoping I deluding myself, as my heart nearly stopped at what I heard and saw. The spider twisted, becoming a formless mass momentarily, before an armor plated rhino bellowed its anger. Its heavy footfalls started, slow, but built up speed as it came straight for us.

"Kidding me," she mumbled. The rhino lowered its horn, intent on spearing us through. Guns didn't work, but I remembered something that had worked previously, at least on people. Something that had left them whimpering, on the ground and out of the fight. To see what I had glimpsed but momentarily. That [I]thing[/I] of shadows.

I drew my knife, Damsel's weight sagging against me without the support of my arm. I gripped it loosely by the handle, hoping, praying, and meaning beyond anything else, to make the shot. Arm drawing back, I picked my target. I waited, the rhino's foreleg raised, and threw the knife. It spun, right on target, but with trails of inky shadows following it. The knife cut its channel through the air, nearly deflecting off the horn, missing by less than a centimeter. It passed, heading right for the eye. The tip dug right through, before the knife flew off course, clattering to the ground. But the trailing shadows plunged right into the damaged eye. The rhino made a sound of pain, and its charge veered left, reflexively protecting its injured eye. It stumbled, making noises of distress, before stopping, shivering.

I grabbed Damsel again, dragging her away from the out of commission Changer. She stirred, trying to stand, and I let her. She grabbed my shoulder, steadying herself, and stood fully upright. She asked, "He's dead?"

"Blind," I replied, correcting her. She kept her hand on me, following my lead as we fled. That hadn't gone exactly as planned, and I needed to get Damsel home. I hadn't known that her power could backfire like this. She could be dying, or seriously injured.

[I]Thump.[/I]

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" I shouted, pulling Daphne to the side, letting her fall on me. I scrambled to my feet, dragging her along. She struggled to regain her footing, and I got a good look at what was chasing us now. A dog with bat wings, and a head consisting of both parts.

Right, Changer. Sight didn't matter if you could just use the other senses. It loped at us, long legs eating up the distance between us with quick speed. What did I have left? I could lay down a wall of shadows, but that was worse than nothing. Blinding didn't work. There was no water to lose it in, and it could change into a shark-topus, or something worse.

I had to break out the emergency supply of powers that would ID me as Defiler. There was no other option. I almost felt relieved, watching the wolf-bat bear down on us. Relief at no longer holding back.

Five yards away, I saw its mouth drop open, jagged teeth ready. Droplets of slimy saliva dangled, flying back from the thing's velocity. It leaped, homing right in on us. A yard away, I discorporated, reforming from shadows to the thing's left, right in front of Damsel. I punched, arm wreathed in green flames, right into its throat. I could feel cartilage crunching in between my knuckles, as I sent its jump off course. Its rear claws, a set of gleaming black blades, raked my stomach as it rotated through its new flight path. Body protesting, I grabbed Damsel.

She was easy to see in the green light emanating from around me. I gripped her tightly and took off, leathery wings, newly formed from within my eldritch light, beating hard as I flew into the night.

Flying again was a heady drug. The wind blowing past my mask - maybe not quite as traditional as blowing through my hair, but at least I didn't have to worry about eating a bug. I gripped Damsel tightly, keeping a low altitude. I stayed barely above the buildings, trying to keep the two of us hidden. As much as possible, when glowing like a lighthouse. No giant glowing spider yet, but one more use, and I'd be announcing to the city I was here.

I glided to a stop, setting Damsel down by an air conditioning unit on a roof. I ordered, "Stay here, I've got a plan!"

I couldn't hear her response as I shot into the air, moving easily twice as fast without a significant burden. My backpack only weighed half as much as Damsel, only a minor hindrance. A sharp cry sounded below me. And I knew exactly what it was, because it wouldn't stop following us.

An bird, unidentifiable to my untrained eye, struggled to gain altitude. It tried to head straight for me, a direct line up. I didn't know much about flight, from my limited experience flying in the Bay, but even I could figure straight up wouldn't work well. My lazy circles, ever ascending, carried me higher and higher .I had noticed one thing about the super-Changer. As I watched, it shifted into something more bat-like, it's head locking on to me. It took time for it to change when hurt, and longer when hurt badly.

When two hundred feet separated us, I tipped over, wings folding, diving straight at him. He barely had time to think, let alone change, before I slammed into him, clawed hands rending at flesh. His own talons raked my back, catching on my backpack's straps. I plunged a set of claws into his neck, both of us falling together, piercing his spine. Enough damage to put him out of commission, until he changed. His legs and wings went limp, and I flared my wings, damaged backpack falling along, as we separated.

I pulled out of the dive. He didn't. The bird-form slammed into the ground, exploding into a pile of goo. It bubbled and flexed, coalescing into a large puddle. An odd medley of legs - spider, cat, and giraffe - formed, before collapsing. Around me, hundred dollar bills floated down, fluttering in the faint wind. I pulled back around, heading back for Damsel. It was time to get out of here. She was still on a rooftop, but waving her arms at me. Why-

I convulsed, hands flying to my mouth. The taste of rotten food - the closest I could come to discerning what it was- obliterated my concentration. I scraped across the ground, left wing snapping as it caught on a parked car. I only knew this, because I heard the snap just before I blacked out. I came to a few seconds later, just as a car stopped nearby. I pushed myself to my knees, to flee before whoever this was saw me. The fire, not a hundred feet away, backlit the passengers exiting. Too late.

I tried to flex my injured wing and nearly lost consciousness again for my foolishness. Looking up, I saw that it was jammed into the windshield, fragments of glass spread around. The wing itself was broken like a twig, right in the middle. The corona of light surrounding me dimmed, falling from lighthouse to streetlight in intensity. Small chips of broken glass, spread out from my impact destroying the car's windows, crunched underfoot as someone walked closer. I pulled myself up, grabbing the car's door as a crutch. And collapsed again, as I tasted something unspeakably foul. This time I couldn't control the retching, and fell back down onto my hands and knees, part of dinner decorating the street below me.

"Move again and I'll do it again," came an irritated male voice. I stayed still, waiting. That was one person behind me. Where there others? I could make a break for it, if I knew the opposition. I would just have to somehow reach Damsel, up on the roof, about half a block away, and then we could flee. The green light wasn't visible for more than a block, cutting down the chance of being seen to a reasonably good chance of escape.

"Right up there!" the same voice shouted, this time in front of me. Damn, he had stopped stepping on glass. I couldn't track his movements. I'd have to wait, and make a move when I could be sure of his location.

A sudden scream, followed by the sound of a body hitting pavement, interrupted my thoughts. More, I knew that voice. Daphne. She wasn't more than half a football field away, and I could hear her faint sobs. Followed by her messily throwing up, as whatever, or more accurately, whoever, had used a power on me, used it on her. And now we were both down, possibly for the count. I only had one chance, and I still didn't know the opposition. If I actually wanted to get away, I couldn't use any powers.

I raised my head, taking a chance that no one was looking at me. A woman and a man were looking at Damsel, who had fallen of the building I had set her on. She was holding her right leg, and her front was covered in vomit. She collapsed onto her back, hands raised. Where they going to hurt her, to shoot her? I couldn't risk it. I'd have to get to her, now.

I pulled my wing out, nearly biting scallop marks in my tongue to keep myself from screaming. Tiny little chunks of glass cascaded down, as I removed it from the car. I had to make it. I took off at a sprint, before a woman yelled, incoherently, behind me. Both of my targets turned, and I -

Attack (What) attack (was happening?) attack.

And my tastebuds protested again, as I snapped out of whatever that had been, over halfway to Damsel. I stumbled, surprised by the sudden lapse of consciousness. And I nearly emptied my stomach, before recovering, forcing myself to my feet. Stomach rebelling, I did it, making it up. I had to get us both out of here. I went back up to full speed, wings and claws dissolving into a burst of light, for maximum speed.

Attack - I could feel my thoughts overridden, to only attack. My mind was twisted into a pattern not of its own making, a course unwanted. I twisted back, wrestling whatever was in my mind with a herculean effort. I reasserted myself. Att-

And I kept moving forward, no longer under the control of whatever, slamming into a surprised man. He went down, air blasting out of his mouth as my elbow dug into his stomach. I fell on top of him, and tried to move forward, before his hands wrapped around my left ankle. I kicked out, hitting him in the head. His hands released me to cover his head, intercepting my second kick. As he was temporarily occupied, I pulled my pistol, accidentally pulling the trigger as I nearly tore it out of the holster. The bullet dug into the pavement right next to my legs.

The man rolled into a crouch, and tackled the woman, taking her down to a low run. My two shots missed by a mile, as I could barely aim in my condition. They escaped, running behind a parked car, and I could no longer see exactly where they were. I crab walked, excepting my occupied hand, over to Damsel. I fired two more shots, one digging into the tire of the car they were behind, and the other hitting the building behind them.

"Damsel! Can you move?" I asked, urgent, voice tight.

She mumbled something not understandable, hands coming down from their surrender position to lift herself off the ground.

"We gotta go," I hissed, gun jumping in my hand I shot at an exposed body part. A tree, two feet from the offending hand, let off a cloud of dust and splinters. Another miss.

"Can't stand."

My back hurt, even without the damaged wing. I had certainly hurt it when I had landed, after falling almost a hundred feet. A flash, and an answering gunshot passed right through the car's windows, winging right over our heads. I grabbed Damsel by her left foot - her broken one, by her sudden scream - and pushed off with my feet, scooting across the ground. My damaged clothing, back ruined from wings ripping through it, nearly tore apart. My now exposed back didn't feel too great from being scrapped against pavement. I answered another shot, aimed where we had been, with my own destroying a side mirror.

Damsel whimpered each time I pulled her along, crossing the parking lot she had landed in. Unfortunately, there were no cars in it to hide behind. I kept moving, both hands shaking, gun wobbling across my field of vision. A gleam of metal, easily visible to me, and I emptied my pistol, holes appearing in the trunk. Nothing. Where were they? I was missing every time. I let go of Damsel, reloaded, and pulled her along with a fresh cry of pain.

We reached a corner of a building, and I pulled us around. Damsel's head bounced off the raised sidewalk, bring a fresh group of pained sounds. Out of the parking lot, I stood, bracing against the wall. I put my gun away, and leaned over, body protesting. I lifted Damsel, hands underneath her arms, and maneuvered her left side to be next to my right. Her head lolled, and I used my now free left hand to gently slap her awake.

"C'mon, Daphne, I can't carry you on my own. I need your help," I pleaded.

"'m awake. Damsel," she corrected. She took a tentative step with her right foot, and kept her left one lifted into the air between us. We walked away, in a bloody and filthy three-legged race. Damsel was injured, I didn't just hurt and feel exhausted; It was like my thoughts were exhausted. I took out my pistol with my no longer slapping hand, and aimed it towards where they would come out, if they had followed us. We crossed another street, Damsel following my lead. Sirens could be heard in the distance, heading right for the fire.

We were safe, hopefully. A block away, I set Damsel down, letting her lean against a wall. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, and nearly tried to dial before I realized the damage. The screen was shattered, and half of the keys didn't even want to depress. I crouched, searching through Damsel's pockets. She didn't respond to my quick search, worrying me. I pinched her, and she didn't respond. I slapped her, hard, right across the face. She faintly groan, still unconscious.

Very worried, I pulled out her phone. I hit three digits, and then talk.

"9-1-1-"

I cut off the operator, nearly shouting in my panic, "Near that big fire, she's gotten a broken leg, but she won't wake up!"

"The bar fire?" she confirmed.

"Yes!"

"Please keep your phone on, an ambulance will be routed to your GPS," she ordered, before hanging up.

I looked at Damsel, still in costume. Her own bag, more of a satchel than bag, was still empty, ready for spoils. I relieved her of it, and took of her domino mask, and being as gentle as I could, her vest. Both went into the satchel, along with my mask. I set the phone down, right at her feet, and ran away. I wanted to stay, to see that she was alright, and got help. But I couldn't - I was still glowing, and even when it stopped, I would have a black disk still right on my now exposed forehead. My exposed face, actually, the face of Taylor Hebert.

I could hear more sirens, and I angled away from them. To hide out, until I could leave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With a crash and a sprinkling of glass, the window shattered. I used my pistol to clean the shards out, leaving an empty frame. I grabbed it, and pulled myself up, gingerly. My body - especially my back- protested the movement, letting me know how injured I was. Very injured, it Gturned out. I passed through the new hole, and dropped down on the other side.

My landing was hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs. I took a second to catch my breath, before I stood, heading deeper into the building. I was still only a dozen yards from Damsel, and I had to hide my glow before the ambulance, and probably police, arrived.

I stumbled past a row of file cabinets, gripping them to keep my balance. The room was as bright as it would have been midday, from my head-glow. If I just got a few walls between me and any windows, that would be enough. I passed right by a copy machine, and tried to open the door. Locked. I tried to break it, ramming it with my shoulder, but I just bounced off, leaving a small dent. I backed up, and heard a set of sirens that could only be less than a block away. I ran for the door, and hit it dead on.

The door broke off its hinges, and I went down with it, landing on top of it. The handle was digging into my stomach, until I stood, and walked through the sea of cubicles. I plopped down, exhausted, right in the middle. Good enough. I wasn't visible from any windows, or at least any windows near Damsel. Lying on my back, I heard the sirens turn off, what sounded like only twenty feet away from Damsel.

She was safe. Even with my ability to see through the night, it was getting dark. I was so tired. I closed my eyes, to rest.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Glaring sunlight, passing right through a window behind me, woke me up.

How long had I slept?

I stood - or tried to. My back let me know it's condition, and that it wasn't happy with me. I steadied myself on the table. I traced my steps back, right to the window. As I passed through the dim copy room, my features shifted, again with the face of Daphne's sister. I took off my gear, stuffing it into the satchel. It couldn't even close, with everything in it. Even with my missing knife, and a missing magazine, it was still too much. II exited, this time landing on my feet, and walked back to where I had left Damsel.

No chalk outline of a body, and no police tape. She was still alive. I nearly fainted in relief, before decided to do something more productive. The morning sun shone right at me, and I backtracked, heading for where I remembered a telephone pole stood. out where she was. Hopefully in a hospital, or better yet, at the apartment. The latter of which was very unlikely. And I didn't have a cell phone to contact her. Phone first, then. Her cell phone hadn't been where I had left it, so had likely been taken by the paramedics.

I could just use a payphone- and I had no change. All of it had been in my backpack. I couldn't hail a cab, with no money. I had a broken cell phone, and my keys, one to the new apartment, and the other to the old one. No options, other than to start walking. The sun rose in the east, so I headed what had to be west, reasoning that I wasn't far enough away from last night's debacle. Two blocks away, I turned north, to the new apartment. If I could just figure out where Central Park was, I would have no problems.

I spent every step dreading and hoping, running through far too many awful scenarios. I was reminded of how bad I had it when my mother died- but in reverse. This time, it had been my fault. I hadn't been able to keep Daphne from getting hurt. I hadn't stopped whoever had used that mind-attack power from making her fall off the roof. I had nothing to show for last night, save for a series of severe injuries.

I reached Central park, and headed west, right to the apartment building. I flashed my key at the doorman, and he opened the door, before opening his mouth. I stalked past him, beelining for the elevators. I had to check on Daphne.

The elevator dinged open, and I fumbled with my keys, nearly dropping them in my haste to open the door. I slammed it behind me, irritated by its obstinance. And I didn't have a phone here. There wasn't one in the apartment yet, since we both had cell phones. The boxes from our new furniture littered the apartment, empty, waiting to be taken down to the garbage. Maybe my new furniture, if Daphne didn't pull through. I banished that thought: It was unproductive.

I took out one of the few, solitary remaining stacks of bills. We had spent way too much, and without the influx of money from last night, would have to do something to refill our coffers. I pulled out my gear, and Daphne's costume parts from her satchel, and hid them inside a suitcase. I took off my filthy clothes and put on clean ones, disquieted at dirty skin touching clean clothes.

I grabbed the satchel, locking the apartment door behind me. I had to get to a phone, or buy one. Really, buy one. I waved down a cab as I stepped out of the building. Convenience store, or a mall maybe, for the cell phone.

"Where to?" the driver asked, as I gingerly sat down.

"Nearest mall," I answered curtly.

He turned around, pulling right into traffic, the cars now behind us honking as they were cut off. We heading right up the edge of Central Park, before he drove through a traffic circle, stopping in front of a pair of skyscrapers, connected at the base. I paid with a twenty, not even caring about the change. Contacting Daphne took priority over everything else. I entered the mall, and saw a directory. A quick examination, and I couldn't find anything cell-phone related. Damn. I looked ahead, down the mall, hoping it was wrong. A series of kiosks lined the center of the path, and at second glance, were unmarked on the directory. One of them had to sell cellphones.

I moved as quickly as I could without drawing attention, keeping my speed to a fast walk. First kiosk was fake tattoos. Second was some sort of nail-thing, little decals. Third was rows and rows of cellphones and cellphone cases. I tapped the lanky teenager manning the kiosk on the shoulder, drawing his attention from his cellphone. He paused what looked like a game, and turned to me before flinching back. My irritation must have shown, and I let it loose on him.

"Prepaid, now," I ordered.

His eyes flicked down, before he looked away, backing up slightly. "Uh, miss-"

"Prepaid," I snapped, pulling out several twenties, and slamming them on the counter. His eyes dropped to my hand, before he shakily took the money, passing me a phone. I tore the plastic casing apart, dropping it on the counter, and left. I flipped the cellphone open as I walked away, noting the charge. Half-full. I dialed Daphne's cell, waiting for the call to go through.

"Hello?" came a voice. Not Daphne's voice.

Icy cold fingers of panic seized my heart. I croaked out, "I'm looking for my sister, Daphne."

"She's been admitted, and there are some issues. We can send a car to pick you up. What is your location?"

I went straight for the meat: "She's okay? She's not hurt badly?"

The woman calmly answered, "No, she will make a full recovery. Where can I send a car to retrieve you?"

Almost at the door, I nearly wept in relief. I had thought, for one brief moment, she was dead. Nearly by my own hand. As I passed people, several gave me strange looks, presumably from my rapidly changing expressions. I replied, "I'm at the mall in the skyscrapers, next to Central Park."

"Columbus Circle," and with that she hung up. Daphne must have had amazing insurance, to get a private hospital willing to provide a car service. Which made sense - caping was a dangerous business, and one that could result in serious or permanent injury. I pushed open the glass door, and froze.

I saw myself in the mirror. I had forgotten to put on a jacket. That was worrying, but, the far worse part was the bronze skin, covering parts of my arm. The face I made, reflected back at me, would've been hilarious, at any other time or to any other person. Right now, to me, it was pants-shittingly horrified. It was what the cellphone salesman had seen, what every person I had passed had seen and flinched away from, and what people would see as I walked outside.

I scrambled back in, heading for the first clothing store I found, restraining myself from running. Drawing more attention would be counterproductive. Perfume and pounding music graced my arrival, and I started a search pattern. I grabbed a jacket off the rack, and headed right for the checkout. I winced at the price, waiting to be helped. I set my new three hundred dollar grey jacket down, before hiding my arms behind me. I didn't talk to the cashier, an irritatingly perky woman, ignoring her attempts at small talk. I just wanted it done. I shelled out cash, before taking my change and jacket. I threw it on as I left the store, ignoring the feeling of tags on my back.

My new cellphone buzzed in my pocket, and whistled at me. I opened the phone, noting the 'Unknown Number.' "Ms. Waldon?"

"It's me," I answered, before adding, "I am walking right out the door,"

I pushed the glass door open, and realized my mistake. Too late to do anything. Daphne wasn't in a private hospital. A PRT Van sat in the circle, lights flashing, and a uniformed man was talking into a cell phone, across the plaza from me. Too few people were in between us, and at seeing me exit, he waved.

"I think I see you," he said.

"Me too," I duly replied. I walked to him, at the same speed of an death row inmate. We had been found out. He opened the van's rear doors, and I closed my cell phone, taking his hand as it was offered to step up into the back. He followed, and sat across from me. And didn't cuff me.

"We are just going to Roosevelt Hospital, around the block," he said, mistaking my look of dread for confusion. Why would we be going to the hospital, rather than the PRT Headquarters? They didn't know? The PRT wasn't one to play games, to my knowledge, so they really didn't know. My spirits were buoyed, before they sank almost immediately. Daphne was still in a hospital.

"Is she alright? What's all this for?" I asked, generally curious.

"She's fine, and I can't explain. If you can just wait a moment," he answered, before being cut off by the van stopping. He opened the doors and waved me out. We had parked directly in front of what had to be the hospital, in the ambulance zone. As I followed the unnamed officer to the sliding glass doors, the van left. What was going on?

Another PRT officer was holding an elevator for us, and we ascended in silence. I was dead still, resisting the urge to fidget. Being nervous right now would only betray my guilt. The elevator dinged open, and I trailed after both PRT officers. They led me to a hallway, where several armored PRT officers waited, all with foam guns, along with one man in a suit. He turned, alerted to my presence by the oncoming unarmored PRT officers.

"Ms. Waldon? I'm Director Wilkins, of the Parahuman Response Team. I'd like to talk to you about your sister."

I nearly pinched myself to see if I was delusional. This was about Daphne? I shook his hand, and asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible, "Where is Daphne? She wouldn't answer my calls all day."

Director Willkins, a tall and broad shouldered man, nodded. "I'm sure she couldn't. Ms. Waldon, I regret to inform you, but it is my duty. Your sister is a cape, specifically a villain. She goes by the name of Damsel of Distress."

Daphne was a villain? I had thought she was a vigilante. And then why was she with me, who sure wasn't nice to villains. But I could figure this out later. I had gotten her into this mess. I was going to get her out. I pleaded, "A villain? Daphne! No way, there is just no way she is."

He nodded, as if he had expected that. "She destroyed part of her bed, with her signature power, not an hour ago. After that, it was fairly obvious who she was. The most important part, however, is we hope she can shed some light on some serious cases here in New York."

"But she can't be a villain, she's always been there for me," I dodged, trying my collection of sappy movie quotes. Or something close.

"I know it is hard to accept, but we even have camera footage. Of course, if she cooperates, we are looking at very small sentence, with no chance of the Birdcage. But if she doesn't…" he trailed off.

I got the hint. If she didn't pony up on Defiler, and the explosions from last night, they would throw the book at her. I had to get her out of here. Her real identity was compromised, just as mine had been. And, my fault too. I could sneak in here, disguising myself again, but could I get her out? I needed a look in her room. If there were no officers stationed inside, I could break her out.

"Can I see her?" I asked, not faking the desperation in my voice.

"Yes, but she is still unconscious-" The Director was cut off. A sick, staccato crack swallowed the rest of his sentence. The floor pitched beneath our feet and knocked half the gathered troops to their knees. Fine dust drifted down from the ceiling in a faint haze, knocked loose by whatever that had been. Urgent beeps echoed around us, as medical equipment registered their protests.

"Status," the Director ordered, voice calm. The armored troops helped each other up, while my initial escort put a finger to his ear. What was happening?

My escort replied, "Something hit the support column outside the lobby - wait. No, capes attacking! Some kind of Blaster, hitting the building, along with a Breaker, teleporting people around. Something else, Brute, too."

"Any demands?"

A quick clarification of, "No. But they have already bypassed the lobby, and are in an elevator-"

The ding of the elevator arriving on our floor interrupted him. A snake like creature- snake like in that it was long and thing, I couldn't see much else at its speed - whipped across the floor, heading straight for us. Two PRT officers were quick on the draw, and shot streams of off-white liquid at it. The foam hit it, forming a cocoon around its head. Until it vanished, replaced by surprised PRT officer, whose foam gun started spraying the ceiling. Something hard hit me in the back, knocking me over. I was pulled up, by one arm, by the Director, even as two PRT officers were caught by the thing's coils.

He pulled me along, covered by two more officers, along with the unarmored ones, right into a room. With Daphne in it. He pulled a pistol from his waistband, adding to our small groups armament of three pistols and a pair of foam guns.

A male voice called out from the hall, "You guys have someone - well, two someones - we want. Hand over Damsel of Distress and her sister."

Operation Wyldhand 5.15

What were my options? Daphne was still unconscious, and hooked up to all the medical equipment. First things first - I had to get her ready to move. I walked to her bed, pulling out a needle from her arm, and several little doo-dads as well. The PRT officers ignored me, and the Director replied to the demand from the hall.

"Not happening, son. And Legend is almost here."

The last part was a bluff. Even I could tell it was. The cape in the hall could too, laughing. "I'm sure he is. Give us Damsel and her sister, and we leave. If not, we can come in, and just take them. Or, we could trade them for the people in the beds around us. Your call, or mine in one minute."

They wouldn't go for it. Which mean the capes out there would come in, soon. So far, a giant snake thing, which was probably the same Changer from last night, a cape with the ability to teleport others, and a cape who had been knocking the building around. I couldn't identify what the last one was, but I had overheard Blaster.

My thoughts were too muddled- I needed to be on the ball, keep focus. Paind was good though or-, pain was an old friend. I could understand pain, somehow. My injuries and exhaustion weren't helping, and could mean the difference between life and death. I reached, grabbing onto something I couldn't quite name, but achingly familiar. But whatever it was, the familiarity throbbed, jamming a jagged black spike through my skull. I collapsed against the bed, but everything after that was clear. My original escort pulled me up with his unarmed hand, looking at me in concern.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine," he soothed, looking back at the doorway.

He was more right than he knew. There was such pain his mind couldn't even comprehend. No one in the hospital save Daphne could think of such pain. Or, I still hurt, but it didn't impair me. It was just pain. I had a significant amount of energy in my inner, and a full outer pool. Energy bubbled, almost eager to be spent, to burn my way out of this. I suppressed the instinct to blast through a wall and fly away, glowing like a star. Not quite what I had in mind. I could do better.

"Listen to me, and we will all get out," I hissed, quiet enough that the pair outside wouldn't hear. At least a pair, on second thought. Just because the Blaster hadn't spoken didn't mean he wasn't out there, and there could be even more. However, the snake-thing had retreated back towards the teleporting speaker. Unless it had circled around, all the way across an entire floor, without making one hell of a racket, it was still there.

"Miss Waldon, what are you-" the Director started, speaking too loud, looking up from his cellphone. Calling in reinforcements, hopefully and probably. I cut him off with a quick slashing motion in front of my throat. Irritated, he was about to start talking again, before I interrupted him.

"You, escort, give me your gun, and grab my sister," I continued, pointing at the man who had just helped me up.

"Miss, I can't-"

I snapped, beyond irritated. I had a plan to get us all out, at least of this room, and they weren't listening. I growled, "I'm the fucking shadow cape. So, if you give me your gun, and grab my sister, I'll blind them."

"Caldwell, gun," the Director ordered, finally speaking quietly. He was also trying to stare a hole through me. The now named Caldwell pulled back the slide, loading a round. He then handed me his pistol, grip first. I took it, and the following two magazines. Safety off, magazines in my pockets, I motioned for him to pick up Daphne.

"The plan is: So far, both of the capes up here have stayed near the elevators. I drop a wall of shadows, and shoot them as much as I can. Everyone else, fire in the general direction, and then we make a break for the stairs. We can deal with the Blaster at the bottom, and then meet up with whoever you contacted," I explained, finishing with a gesture towards the Director.

He nodded, waving the PRT officers forward. The two armored ones stood ready to go in front, after me. He glanced at me, narrowing his eyes, and added, "And then we are going to have a talk."

I ignored that, and making sure Caldwell had Daphne in his arms, braced against the doorframe. One, two, and three-

I spun into the hallway, empty and armed hands both extended. My gun tracked - a man wearing an all black costume, but for a red mask and hat - and instead of pulling on shadows to disguise myself, I pushed them out. A silent storm of them, accumulating right between our opposing groups. Inky clouds blocked everyone's sight. Except for mine.

My empty hand came up to support my gun hand, and I shot twice, in rapid succession. Both bullets blew past the foamed PRT officer, and hit top hat in the chest, sending him on his back. The snake-thing, an eye-searing red, nearly flew right in front of him, and I unloaded the rest of the magazine at it. Doing no damage, bullets bouncing right off, as it pulled top hat out of the hall and back into an elevator. A storm of additional bullets failed to make their mark, as the PRT opened up behind me. Two quick blasts of foam missed by a mile.

Ejecting the empty magazine, and replacing it with a new one - one full magazine left - , I turned right around. The remaining unnamed unarmored officer was leaning down, trying to wake the unconscious or concussed PRT officers left outside. I shouted, no longer worried about being heard, "Go! We have to go, before they realize we're going down!"

Both of the armored officers stomped behind me along with the Director and Caldwell, as we headed for the stairs, marked with signs overhead. I stalked past desks with nurses and doctors cowering behind them, and patients sticking their heads out of rooms. The officers behind me shouted at them to stay down. Who attacked a hospital, when there was so much potential for people to get hurt? Who were these assholes?

I slammed into the door marked 'Emergency Exit,' triggering an alarm somewhere. Apparently you were only supposed to take the stairs during a fire. Iniside the stairwell, a buzzer and flashing strobe flooded the room with amber light, while a big white '4' on a green wall proclaimed which floor we were on. I nearly kicked myself for not noticing it beforehand. It was so much easier to think without my back feeling like it was going to break at any second. Members of the PRT plus Daphne sprinted past the door, and I let it close.

Out of breath on the second floor landing, following my signal to stop, Director Wilkins wheezed, "Two minutes till reinforcements. Legend is coming, and more officers."

I wasn't feeling too great myself, but I wasn't winded. Both of the armored officers were standing on the stairs below us, ready to go through the first floor door. And it was time for the second part of my plan. I safed my pistol, jamming it into my waistband, and moved to check on Daphne. Caldwell noticed my concern, and said, "She's fine. Just won't be happy waking up."

"Thank y-" I interrupted myself with a mass of shadows occupying the landing we were on. I kicked Caldwell in the groin, foot fitting in like it was meant to be there. He dropped Daphne, hand dropping to his crotch, and I caught her. I staggered low under the sudden weight, and then jammed my shoulder into his leg, knocking him back. Caldwell fell right into the Director, whimpering, and they landed on the concrete floor. As I came up, I yanked the door handle, and ran through, on the second floor instead of the first.

I needed an unoccupied room. I ran as fast as I could, checking the rooms facing the outside of the building as I went. Occupied, occupied, occupied, the stairway door opening behind me, occupied, unoccupied! I skidded to a stop, before backtracking into the empty room. I caught a brief glance of a severely pissed off set of PRT officers, before I went into the room. I dropped Daphne on the bed, and the pulled it to the doorway. I blocked off the door, which opened inwards, and fiddled with the wheels, locking them into place. Even with a good look upstairs at Daphne's original bed, it was still a bout of quick guesswork. A body slammed into the door, and I could see a face through the window set into it.

The face vanished when I pulled my gun. Of course, I wasn't aiming at them. I shot the single pane window at the end of the room, thick glass shattering into large jagged pieces. But still in the frame. I grabbed the unused IV bag stand, and used it as a pole to knock out the glass. The door behind me jostled, as someone rammed into it. Several hundred pounds of medical bed stopped them. And my single gunshot, aimed very high, discouraged them.

I rolled Daphne over, pulling out the thin mattress from underneath her. I tossed it out the window, and went back to Daphne. Pistol resafed and back in my pants, I grabbed her, and headed for the window. What could only be two people were trying to ram the door down, and probably the armored PRT officers. I looked out the window, at the mattress on the sidewalk. It worked in the movies.

I stepped out of the window, falling. I landed hard, right ankle twisting. I sprawled across the pavement, with Daphne landing on the mattress. I stood, unevenly, favoring my left ankle. I awkwardly picked her up, and headed away from the hospital. A cop car was blocking off the street to the east, and I hobbled to them.

"Help!" I shouted, even as they aimed their guns in my general direction. "She needs help!"

The both of the policewomen moved forward, holstering their weapons as they did so. They took Daphne off my hands, and I yanked the closer's ones pistol out of its holster. I aimed at the still armed one's face, and said, "Put her in your car."

"You are pointing a gun at a cop-" she heatedly replied, before I fired the purloined gun. Both of the officers flinched back from the muzzle blast, even as a brick building down the street received a new decoration. They obeyed, rather sullenly, and I took the opportunity to relieve the other policewoman's gun from its holster. Aiming both pistols at them, they followed my gentle directions with said pistols to place her in the front seat.

"Keys," I added, safing my second new pistol and adding it to my waistband collection. Older made to toss them to me, before I aimed my still out pistol at her.

"Set them on the hood. And then cuff yourselves." I ordered, gesturing again with my pistol. They walked out of the street, and turned around. I grabbed the keys off the hood, and while they were pretending to cuff themselves, turned the cop car on. Both of the cops turned around in surprise, as I put the car in reverse, and yanked the wheel to the left. From nose facing west, to nose facing east, tires squealing, I reversed my future course. The door slammed shut as I stopped. Hospital now behind me, I could hear a crash as something exited a mostly glass lobby. In the rearview mirror, I could see the bright red snake, carrying three people.

I shifted the lever on the side of the wheel to 'D', and floored it. I could cut through Central Park, and lose them. I nearly flew through an intersection, traffic helpfully kept away by an additional pair of police cars. I looked over at the fire hydrant, wishing I had ordered the police to buckle her in.

Fire hydrant? A second, panicked look confirmed that Daphne was now a fire hydrant. A look in my mirrors showed Daphne lying on the sidewalk, not a fire hydrant, being sprayed with water from where a hydrant had been.

The snake-thing had stopped, dropping its passengers off in front of it, and I saw top hat walking towards Daphne. And then I had to flinch back, as an eye searing glow formed in the middle of the street. Which then started flying towards me. I floored the cop car, but it wasn't enough. The ball of bright fire engulfed the rear of the car, leaving nothing but melted plastic and metal. I desperately tried to stop the car, but it wasn't having any of that. I opened the door, falling out into a roll. The half-a-car slammed into the curb ahead. It flipped up, landing on its roof on the sidewalk.

I rolled to a stop, right in front of a bus stop. Injuries new and old voiced their complaints. I tried to stand, but couldn't. I felt my vision dim, even as I desperately tried to grasp out to Daphne. I just couldn't reach -

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I jerked awake, and tried to reach for Daphne. Instead, white hot pain shot through me, my body spasming against the restraints. I shuddered, keeping as still as possible. I certainly didn't want to move after whatever that had been, and couldn't, significantly. If that was what had kept me unconscious, I wasn't going to trigger it again. Inch-wide black straps crossed my body, attaching to the edge of the bed I was in. I was in a windowless concrete room, and as I examined my surroundings, the door slammed opened, hitting the wall. Three armed PRT officers advanced through, weapons aimed at me.

A fifteen year old girl, tied down to a bed.

A machine blooped behind me, and the guards relaxed, slightly. Their weapons weren't aimed at my elevated forehead anymore. The middle guard, who had to be higher ranking by dint of more colors on his armor, ordered, "Do not move, or try to activate a power. If you do you will be shocked. Once more as a warning, and then to unconsciousness. Are you going to cooperate, or do we have to stun you again?"

I tried to nod, but that only made them raise their weapons back up to my face. I took the hint and replied, voice cracking from lack of water, "Y-yes."

The lead officer nodded, and motioned for his fellows to leave. I tried to croak out a question. They ignored my unintelligible noises, and closed the door behind them, much more gently than they had opened it. Leaving me alone with my thoughts. Cold air blew down on me from a vent right above my head, chilling me. All I had on was a hospital gown, and it didn't keep much warmth in.

I had been captured by the PRT. I didn't know where Daphne was. I was tied to a bed, that shocked me if I moved. My disguise was still up, otherwise I might have been dosed unconscious as a hero-killer, instead I had been left awake as vigilante who attacked gangs. Problematic, especially in my methods, but not supremely dangerous. I still wasn't known as Defiler, at least to them.

I only had one viable option, and that was to break out now. Rescue Daphne on the way, or find out where she was being held. The capes who had attacked the hospital had wanted us alive, and if they had taken her, rather than the PRT, she would still be alive. Or else. The PRT might consider her a villain, but she had put her trust in me, and I had gotten her crippled and captured. And she didn't have to be a villain.

I was going to get her out of this, one way or another.

I debated trying to get shocked again, to try to talk the officers entering the room. My plan was foiled, by an orderly coming in, and silently pressing a straw to my lips. I drank from the tiny cup, draining it in a few seconds. Throat no longer sandy, I tried to ask him something. And got shocked for my troubles. I spat water out, body twitching. He left immediately. I was starting to get irritated. Was no one going to to at least give a semblance of courtesy? They 'knew' my sister had been taken right in front of me, after I had... admittedly attacked them as well. But I had cooperated up until then, and hadn't harmed them. Well, no more than a quick nudge.

The door opened for the third time in five minutes, revealing Director Wilkins, followed by Caldwell. Neither looked very happy, and the latter was walking awkwardly. I had hit him with more than a nudge then. I almost apologized, words catching in my throat. Nothing I could say would soothe his justified anger. 'Sorry for kicking you in the balls to save my sister' wasn't very diplomatic.

"Ms. Waldon. We were having a discussion yesterday, before we were interrupted," the Director grimly said, "Before some new evidence came to light."

I didn't respond. I had plenty to say, but I couldn't say it, not without being shocked into oblivion. I glared at him, communicating my frustration with the situation. Either he was able to interpret glares, or he guessed that I wanted to talk, as he said, "You can talk. Don't move much, though."

"Where is my sister?" I immediately asked, a hint of urgency tinting my voice with panic. Caldwell left, leaving the door open, and the Director came forward, resting his hand at the foot of my bed.

"Captured, unfortunately. Legend arrived on the scene, and saw them trying to grab you. He discouraged them and they retreated."

Caldwell walked back through the open door, dragging a chair behind him. He set it at the end of my bed and left, leaving me alone with Wilkins. He sat down, arms folded, and waited for me to speak.

"And why couldn't Legend stop them from taking her? Or were you just focused on capturing me?" I snapped, irritated. Where they so focused on capturing someone who had gotten away, that they ignored Damsel? What kind of a heroes-

"No. While you were distracting us, and then fleeing the hospital, Ballistic, one of the members of the team who attacked, damaged the hospital further. After Legend nearly froze them to the pavement, he stopped the hospital from collapsing."

"They destroyed the hospital?" I gasped, horrified. All just to get to me?

The Director shook his head, and uncrossed his arms, pulling out his phone and giving me a good view of his holstered pistol, "No. One of the Travellers' usual MOs when heroes show up is to pin them to a spot, and then escape while they are distracted. Damaging a hospital's structure is a serious escalation, but not unthinkable."

I let out a sigh of relief. How many people were in that hospital? That I had endangered just by being there. I stopped that thought cold. I hadn't endangered them - these 'Travellers' had. I hadn't asked to be attacked in a hospital. They had chosen the location, probably to restrict Damsel and I from using our power's to their fullest.

And they didn't know my full abilities, a tiny corner of my mind whispered. The little bubble of hate subsided after its input. I tilted my head fully up, both to get a better look at him, and to test the limits of the electrification. I asked, "So the Travellers have my sister?"

He shook his head. "Not really. It's been over a day, and we have a fairly good idea of what is happening. You managed to irritate someone in the Mob, and they responded. They hired the Travellers to capture you, and Damsel. They bombed your sister's apartment, injuring two of my officers when they went to investigate. The numerous suspicious vehicles being reported across the city, at every place we could have taken you to. And now I want some answers. Who are you? "

I sure wasn't Defiler. I answered, "Shadow-cape is good enough. And yes, I am the one who gave you all those gangs, practically gift wrapped."

Wilkins leaned back, phone going back into his pocket. He looked at me, clearly thinking hard. I interrupted his thoughts, more interested in Daphne than the PRT, "Where is she, then?"

"We don't know. But, we are looking. I do not tolerate the actions the Travellers have taken in my city. And I certainly don't condone the ones you-"

He was building up for a long-winded speech on something. I didn't have time. Daphne might even be in the Mob's hands already, and every moment spent here was one I couldn't spend looking. One in which she might be tortured or dieing. I had a guess on the stunner: the bed shocked me when it detected elevated heart rate or significant movement. I hadn't had time to test the former, but the latter was clear as midnight.

The vent above me was perfect. Shadows pierced through my skin, shedding the false layer, revealing myself beneath. A being of shadows. Even before I had fully become a thing of shadows, I was jumping. Straight up, five feet to the ceiling. I passed the grate on the ventilation shaft, and found myself in a dim tube, a few inches in diameter, only lit from below. I stopped to catch my breath, as lingering twitches of electricity rocked my frame. I hadn't quite escaped in time.

I could see fine, though, and I had to head up. Air conditioning in larger buildings was on the roof, to my knowledge, and from there I could escape. I bounded down the tube, slimmer and faster than any snake. I caught quick glimpse of other rooms like mine below me through more vents, with unoccupied beds. And the way up was blocked. A sheet of metal was blocking the pipe. A PRT building had to be ready for all sorts of capes, and plenty could turn gaseous. A logical way to prevent escapes, but not especially helpful to me.

I slid away, before moving full steam ahead, fist forming out of shadows ahead of me, green fire wreathing it. I punched the edge of the thin sheet of metal, trying to deform it enough to slip through. Instead, I broke it in half, parts of it still crackling with green light. I nearly flew through, taking advantage of my lack of weight as a shadow. I bounced between the walls of a vertical pipe, heading at least two full stories up. Another pipe blockage stopped me in my tracks. I couldn't head up, especially with several inches of metal in the way. I didn't fancy my chances punching through that. I turned left, reasoning that most people would turn right. The unexpected course would be more profitable, escape wise.

I slid next to a vent, stopping. Marble floors, embellishments, the whole nine yards. Dozens of people stood around, easily half of them children. Tour groups, maybe? Which mean this was the PRT Headquarters, from the decoration. I just had to wait, and bide my time - There! Several uniformed officers started herding the groups out, apologizing for the interruptions. I shot out, crossing a dozen yards of marble, and hid in between legs. I slid forward, almost as low as a sheet of paper, staying in the small patch of shadows directly beneath people. The lights were too bright and too many to get any other shadows.

The frosted glass doors didn't let me see the time, until I passed through them, and felt relief that it was night. Relief, and apprehension, as it had been more like 36 hours than 24 since I had been knocked out by my stupid escape attempt. I needed to find these 'Travellers.' And I had nothing but a hospital gown, and I needed to make a call. I waited, until one teacher, or chaperone, pulled out a cellphone. She made a quick call, to what could only be a bus driver from the context. And she put the phone into an outside pocket of her purse.

I grabbed it, children making noises of surprise as I rose up from the ground, and sped away. The lights of Time Square shone down on me, even as I tried to desperately find some patch of darkness. I couldn't hide under the light of a forty foot television. A quick run, sticking as low as possible, and I made it underneath a car, all the way across the Square. I looked back, and could see officers boiling out of the lobby I just left. I could almost see little question marks floating above their head as they searched for me.

With the undercarriage of a car right above my head, I dialed my newly acquired cellphone. The call was answered on the third ring. I spoke, both clearly and urgently. I needed this, more than anything. Without his help, it would take much longer.

"Number Man. I need your help."

The Number Man's voice, calmly answered my near frantic request, "Of course. What do you require?"

"The Travellers. I want every bit of information you have, starting with where they are. Now," I half-pleaded, half-demanded. I was desperate, and I knew he could tell. But I had to find her.

"I'd want something in return," he said, the tone of his voice unchanging.

"Anything," I readily agreed.

"One favor, in the future," he replied.

"Deal! Now, information," I hurriedly said, something as I heard the car above me turn on. The engine nearly blocked out the Number Man's voice.

"Two hours, and I will call your current number," he said, before hanging up. Two hours? What was I supposed to do with two hours? Our new apartment was destroyed, according to Director Wilkins, along with all my equipment. I had no money. I could only recharge, and get ready. To strike those bastards back. The car above me left, and I moved out from underneath, away from the Square. Someplace to sleep, hidden. A parking garage, not a hundred feet down, a giant illuminated 'P' sign sticking out was perfect. Everything left, consisting of Daphne's van, and my original apartment that I no longer had key for, were too far away. I passed through the entrance, headed down. Three levels down, I coiled up in a corner, falling asleep with the ease of switching a light.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The cell phone woke me up as it rung, and I pushed 'talk'.

"Where," I demanded.

"50th Street, due northwest of where you were held by the PRT. In between 9th and 10th Avenues, in a red brick building, above a deli."

Relief flooded through me, lifting my spirits. I didn't have to attack every Mob holding in NYC just to find her. Caution tempered my relief, and I asked, "Who are they, and what are their powers."

"Trickster, the leader, can switch any two objects he can see. Genesis is a powerful Changer, much more varied in her selections then you. Sundance is a Blaster capable of firing masses of heat imitating the Sun. Ballistic can accelerate any object to a uniform speed, just below the speed of sound, regardless of weight. They have two additional members, who function as a support team. I'd advise keeping a lower profile-"

I hung up, silently apologizing. I didn't have time for pleasantries. Then I snapped the phone in half, dropping it at my feet. I left the garage, and after a quick query to the garage attendant, headed west. Luckily, I was already on the west side of Times Square, and didn't have to try to cross it or route around it. I reached 8th Avenue nearly a hundred feet from the garage, and kept heading west. After I hit Ninth street, I turned north. How close were they to the PRT? That seemed insanely stupid for a group of villains. Not even a mile away, the largest collection of heroes in North America sat, ready and willing.

I'd have to be quiet. 48th street. Close. 49th, and 50th. I stopped, not turning the corner onto the stretch of buildings hiding Daphne. People stared at me, and my hospital gown as I moved with purpose. Maybe before, people staring at me, or muttering behind their hands would have had an effect on me. Not tonight.

The last time I had tangled with the Travellers, I had come off the loser. I had nearly lost everything. Every little thing I had gained since coming here. And they were trying to take Daphne from me. They wouldn't succeed. I wouldn't let them. Speed would trump stealth, tonight.

I stepped around the corner, Deli sign a nice red glare, happily proclaiming where I was to go. A couple nearly stepped on me as they walked East. I headed to the door next to the large windows of the deli. A small metal plate contained rows of buttons and names. A small speaker covering sat underneath. Intercoms, for deliveries to the upstairs apartments, reasonably. All but one had faded lettering, names of families or tenants. The third floor's little tag was blank. I didn't care who saw me. Dozens of people must have been behind me, and more we're walking down the side of the street I was on. Some were looking at the crazy girl, nearly undressed.

I shifted form, easily. Shadows replaced skin, hair, and hospital gown. I could hear murmurs of surprise and shock, but ignored them. Later. The door, instead of a peephole, had a small section of glass. I broke it and jumped through, streaking up the wooden stairs.

The third floor apartment had light's shining outside onto the landing. I slipped underneath the door, and examined the apartment. Daphne was wrapped up in a ludicrous amount of rope, on the pale brown couch. Across from her, in an armchair, sat a rather handsome blond young man. He was alternatively watching over Daphne, and an unconscious girl in a wheelchair. Various styrofoam containers of food littered the apartment, and the faint smell of rotting meat was pervasive.

"Oliver?" A woman's voice asked from behind a door, startling both of us. He got up, walking to a closed door behind the couch, stopping in front of it. Not opening it, which was curious.

"What, Noelle?" Even I could tell the now-named Oliver was exasperated. A good view of him rolling his eyes was another hint.

"I'm hungry. Is the Deli open?"

He winced, and rubbed his hands together. A nervous habit. Why couldn't any of my enemies have stupid nervous habits I could use against them? Like an urge to leave money out, or drop their weapons at the sound of a dog barking? "We can't, Noelle. They're already getting suspicious of how much meat we buy."

Noelle's voice turned petulant, and she whined, "Fine. I want to see Krouse, then."

"He will be back soon-"

I interrupted him by slamming his head into the shut door. His nose broke, the sound of cartilage audibly crunching. He struggled slightly, arms reaching back to grab me, before I adjusted my grip on the back of his head, and slammed him again, this time temple-first. He crumpled to the ground, blood leaking from his ruined nose. The door sagged in its hinges, cracked down the middle and splintered.

"Oliver? Oliver, are you hurt? I smell blood," Noelle said through the door.

I ignored her, and moved to grab Daphne. Oliver was the most combat capable member of the three here, if he was on guard duty. With him out of the picture, I could just leave. I released the shadow form with a twist of will, to leave another way. I didn't know if the rest of the Travellers were coming, but I did know only one of them could fly.

"Who are you? What did you do to Oliver!" Noelle interrupted me again. I continued to pretend she didn't exist, and left the living room. The kitchen had a block of knives and I pulled one out to cut Daphne free. I stepped back into the living room, brandishing the knife.

The broken door exploded into splinters, a mass of something huge blowing right through the already damaged door. I barely had time to see an unnatural number of limbs and eyes, before I was pushed to the ground, skidding back across the living room. Whatever it was, it stunk of meat and sweat. A tentacle made of hands apparently growing out of even more hands grabbed hold of me, pulling me in closer despite my struggles. I sliced down with the knife, barely able to get a foot of swinging distance. But the knife did glow green, and when it cut, a high pitched woman's scream matched the desperate flailing of a severed tentacle.

Noelle's voice. She was evidently the more combat capable of the three.

More tentacles, followed by arms, grabbed me, arresting the movement of my knife hand. I tried to switch it to my other hand, but it was futile. Green flames sputtered at its tip, useless. She could see me - an eye the size of a hubcap was not two feet away, staring at me. I tried to writhe out of their grasp, but I couldn't. She drew me into the mass of limbs, pressure squeezing me down. I couldn't breath. My head felt like it was being crushed. I had to get out. Had to escape.

I remembered what I had done last time, in a similar situation. When my options were limited, when my body wasn't suited for the task at hand. An opportunity to let out some very justified anger.

My fear, that I wouldn't save Daphne, became anger. My desperation to get out, became anger. It boiled over, and I let it burn away my flesh, detonating in a wave of green flames. Noelle, for it had to be her, wasn't moved by the fire. She did scream as it burnt away the limbs holding me. Not that they could've held me anymore.

Claws digging into the cheap wooden floor of the apartment, I propelled myself forward. I kept my now expansive wingspan tucked in. My bulk, lesser than her's, but still substantial, allowed my amateur tackle to take us both through her bedroom, full of already destroyed furniture, and through the brick wall.

The bronze spider formed above my head, standing amongst the buildings, even as a shallow sea of shadows lapt at our feet.

Noelle, half of a woman, and half a monstrous menagerie of limbs, got to what passed for her feet. A chunk of her lower body had been burnt away. She looked down at her damage, and then at the gaping pedestrians who had quickly made space for us.

"I'm hungry."

Operation Wyldhand 5.17

A tentacle shot out from her array of limbs, snagging one of the pedestrians He screamed, gripped firmly by his ankle as he pawed at the street, dragged closer and closer to Noelle. Not to her, into her. The people who stood gaping in shock quickly switched to looks of dawning horror as he disappeared into her body. More limbs attached to him, keeping him from trying to escape. One wrapped around his neck, and pulled, a faint crack audible. By ones and twos, people started to flee, screaming or silent, away from the sight of a man being eaten.

The green light around me dimmed, chest swelling as I sucked in air. I was angry. This Noelle was eating people, all because I had let her loose. My lungs burned, but not from a lack of air. I exhaled, lungs emptying, a burst of green flame racing across the street to engulf Noelle. Instead, I burnt a tree to ash. With a series of popping noises, Noelle had tossed a tree right in front of me, uprooting it straight from its planter. The concrete around its former home cracked apart with an accompaniment of noise and dirt.

The tree burned to ash in heartbeats, before the flames reached out and tried to touch her, but she was gone, leaving my flames to spray melted asphalt along their path. A car flew towards me, apparently sent on its way by a flurry of kicks. I reached up and caught it, my claws digging into the metal easily before realizing another vehicle had trailed behind the first one. It slammed into my shins, dropping me to my knees. I returned the gesture, hurling my caught vehicle at her.

My fastball was far quicker than her curveball. The front bumper slammed into her human-sized stomach. She fell backwards, car following and tipping up and over to land entirely on her human portion. I couldn't damage the bottom of her body significantly, so I had aimed at the top of her form instead. And she was down for the count.

I lumbered over to her, feet cracking the pavement from my weight. I started to draw breath for another breath of fire, but the air wouldn't heat. Nothing I tried, from thinking of fires, to imagining the depths of Hell, worked. No fire breath. Fuck. I'd have to get close, and do this the hard way-

I crossed my arms in front of my face, as Noelle's frontal limbs latched on to the road. She pushed off with the more rearward limbs, body coming fully upright, and sending the car I had hit her with towards my face at twice the speed I had thrown it. The car hit my arms, with a chorus of metal screeching against stone. I slid backwards, losing my balance, and falling back despite myself. My wings folded back behind me, catching me from hitting the ground, and I pushed off with them, coming back upright. The car, now a compacted wafer of metal, fell to my feet. Noelle had decided to run away from me.

A cut off scream to my right told me where she had fled to. I turned, lunging in the general direction of the cry for help, but I was too late. Noelle was already absorbing a woman, leaving behind only scraps of clothing and debris - a pair of glasses and a pile of change. The woman's body, head nearly torn off her neck, was dissolving in the the arms gripping her, like a reverse softserve.

I charged after her, but she was already moving, far faster than I could. I beat my wings, leaping into the air. Even though I was a moving mass of twenty feet of stone, I was still catching up to her. She ran straight for the center of the city, not even stopping as tentacles and hands grabbed people. Their deaths were near-instant, but nonetheless horrifying. I could see the expressions of surprise and terror from my position. I swooped down, trying to catch up, but only came within two dozen yards. I skidded, arms reaching out. I grabbed another empty car, and pivoting to a stop, flung it at her back. The sound of a gravel truck being dumped on pavement must have alerted her, because she jinked right, car passing within feet of her upper body.

I sprang back into the air, desperate to catch up. She was eating people, and I had let her loose. At least ten by now, and - there went another! I tried to squeeze another blip of speed out of my stone wings, but couldn't. I wasn't fast enough to overtake her before she reached even more people. I stopped myself from vocalizing my frustrations, but my screams of despair and rage still echoed in my mind.

A car swerved out of her path, honking. She angled her course, running ontop of it, and pulling the surprised passengers along. Trailing broken glass, they barely had time to realize their predicament before they were dead, and absorbed.

She was getting faster at that, and bigger too. Every person she ate made her stronger. I had to stop -

She turned around, limbs shifting to reveal a mouth, studded with teeth like fence posts, the size of a door. It opened and vomited, filth spreading across the street, along with a mass of pulsing flesh, twisted into a parody of a human body. Was she trying to set out decoys? Could she clone herself? The thing stood before collapsing, its legs too fragile to support its weight. It was left behind by its maker, and me, as I overflew it.

If she could copy herself, this was going to go from worse, to catastrophically bad. I was almost close enough, that a dive could reach her. If I could get her stuck in one place, I could contain her, at least temporarily. My lightshow, and the destruction trailing Noelle would bring all the heroes in the city, hopefully. I angled up, wings opening wide, almost ready. A cluster of people, men and women together in equal proportions were walking and joking, occupying a whole side of the sidewalk.

Noelle was almost on them. I dove, too far away to pin her upper half to the ground. I landed on a gigantic thumb, jerking her to a halt, but nearly dislodging me as her momentum bled off. I wrapped my arms around her thumb-leg, and pulled back, trying drag her away from the people. Screams and shouts, more from my appearance, than the realization they had almost been eaten, sounded from the group of couples, and I could hear them dropping things and running.

Heels digging into the street, she started pulling me forward, slowly. I jammed the bottom of my wings into the pavement, trying to get more leverage. She only moved faster, as more limbs reached out, pulling her up the street like it was a wall. Clawed limbs dug handholds for arms behind them, and tentacles got more grip than I could. I ground out, teeth pressed together, "Stop fucking eating people."

"I'm so hungry," she whispered back. The words echoed from below, more mouths than I could see repeating her words slightly off-synch. I tried beating my wings to pull her back, but to no avail. I was losing the tug-of-war match.

"I'll buy you a cartload of sandwiches. Just stop!" I pleaded, desperate.

"It feels too good," she mused, ignoring my failing efforts to slow her, "I can feel things, and when it wants me to feel things, I do. It feels so good. It rewards me."

She stopped, suddenly, and I lost my balance, nearly falling on my face. Nearly, because an array of misshapen flesh slugged me across my face, sending me sliding on my stomach away.

"Sorry," she apologized, looking over her shoulder at me, and sounding completely sincere. "I really don't like doing this. But-"

A police car, sirens silent and headlights off, rammed right into her. She only had to take a massive step back, limbs spreading out to steady herself, to stay upright. The officers in the car opened fire, and I heard the roar of a shotgun joining the sharper reports of a pistol. Bullets and shot spread the flesh that had compromised her head across the street. And it didn't help the officers at all, even as I got up, trying to reach them before she did. They were pulled through the broken windshield, right over deflated airbags, and into Noelle.

I needed a weapon, something to deal more damage than she could heal from. Blunt objects just weren't working. At least people were vacating the area - the sounds of screams and gunfire had sent every person running away, leaving Noelle with no more people to try to eat in sight. I drew in breath, and was rewarded with the air in my lungs nearly igniting. I was recharged. She turned at the sudden dimming of the lights, and took a face full of flames. I exhaled, until stars danced before my eyes, followed by Noelle. She ran me over, grabbing me as she did, and pulled me along underneath her. I tried to claw any flesh I could reach, but was restrained by more and more limbs latching on to me. With a jerking stop, she whipped me into a building.

I crashed through, catching a momentary glimpse of a surprised family hiding in a kitchen, before I exited the other side. I landed in a small yard, swing set tangling around me. My flightpath had passed right through over half the first floor of the small building, and even as I watched, it shuddered. Wood, cinder blocks, and steel rebar showered down in a trickle, before it became a flood. The building groaned, and the top two stories started collapsing onto the first. I lunged, to grab the people I had seen out of the first floor.

My claws plunged through a bulging second story wall, now occupying my exit hole. Too late.

She wasn't even trying to kill people, and she was still succeeding! I tore the swing set off my left wing, tossing it aside. I jabbed my mind with the familiar black spike of pain, just like in the hospital, reveling in it washing away my impairments. I couldn't be slowed down, anymore. Pain was my ally.

I took off, moving faster, with greater ease than before. And saw a set of flyers heading straight for me. I was lighting up the entire neighborhood, standing out like a spotlight on a cloudy night. They could see me, but probably didn't think I could see them. But one of them was all too easily identifiable.

Legend.

I needed help. I couldn't stop her on my own, and one of the greatest heroes in the country was here. I made a beeline for him, if bees were the size of a semi. Both of his flanking capes stopped, shouting at Legend, unintelligible at this distance. He kept going, and I stopped, wings flapping to keep me at a hover. He closed until he was a half dozen yards of distance from me, and floated.

"Defiler, I presume." Even his voice sounded like a hero. Patently unfair, especially when he had the physique of one. Under normal circumstances, my eyes might have wandered. A skintight suit looked good on him.

"I need your help. There's this thing, Noelle, and she's eating people," I stated, before realizing how dumb it sounded. I added, hurriedly, "She's been absorbing them! And she already ate a dozen, and I can't stop her!"

Legend raised a single eyebrow, increasing my envy at his skill, and looked behind me. No, under me, at the building I had destroyed. Chips of wood were still caught in my stone skin, and were easily visible in my surrounding green light. He turned back to me, face hardening, and opened his mouth. And I knew what was going to come out.

"I don't-" he started, before being interrupted by who I could clearly see was Albatross. A Tinker, famous for both flying, and being named after his many failures. And he had embraced the name, developing a propensity for explosives. His jetpack - could you call it a jetpack if it used wings? - let him move closer, and he shouted at Legend,

"Something is eating people, heading up 8th! Let's go!"

Legend shot away, invisible from his speed, leaving all three of us in mid-air. I turned to follow, Albatross and the other cape behind me. She flew by running, possibly the strangest way I had seen. He pulled ahead, mechanical wings beating faster than mine, and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"This way!" he shouted, before pointing northwest. The sudden blast of light was more indicative of her location, though. Lasers rained down in a continuous barrage. As I closed, I could see Noelle being cut, pummeled, and frozen by Legend's lasers. She was pinned down, finally, unable to move as he cut off limbs before they could regrow. Limbs numbering in singles, pairs, and dozens were raining down as he cut loose. The street around her was a crater already, and he was pushing her deeper. Movement, heading straight for her caught my eye, several people riding an imitation of a chinese dragon. It shot up, heading right for us. Reinforcements had arrived.

And then I was in the crater, surprised, and took what felt like a hundred airliners to the face. I collapsed, stunned. The second, third, and following blasts all missed me, hitting where I had been, before stopping. Dazed, I watched as he shifted fire, shooting at a falling Noelle, who had taken my former position in the sky. The dragon ascended, giving me a good look at who was on board.

The Travellers.

I surged up, out of the crater, trying to get behind the dragon before I could be teleported away again. Noelle was on the ground, and a car had taken her place, falling. Albatross dived down, pulling an object from behind him, and fiddling with it. He got within a hundred feet of Noelle, before he was replaced with a parking meter.

A sickening spalt of flesh on a hard surface told me where he had gone. Right into the ground, switched out by Trickster. And he was almost certainly dead. The meter tumbled to the ground, landing with a clang.

Quintessence, now identifiable from the fractal-patterned forcefield blocking the dragon's path, laid an additional one around Noelle, trying to keep her contained. She had somehow developed the ability to mask her forcefields, by her earlier movement. They were visible now, which probably meant that her ability to make them invisible was size dependant.

Noelle pushed against the field, and it stretched like taffy, before shattering, falling apart in a shower of glittering dust. And she was gone, another parking meter replacing her space in the air. An eye-searing line of light lanced out from Legend, spearing Noelle straight through. In the brief instant where the holes lined up, I could see forty feet into the ground. And why he was so intent on killing her. Quintessence was desperately grasping for a hold on the sidewalk, nails breaking and hands bleeding. Her legs had already been assimilated into Noelle's flesh, and she gave a sharp scream before she vanished.

"I'll get the Travelers, you get her!" I shouted to Legend as I rose up to his height. His answering barrage of light informed me of his agreement, as he redoubled his efforts to destroy that abomination. I dove towards the dragon, catching up easily. I didn't have surprise, but I could at least keep them off Legend's back while he dealt with the more serious problem. Did Trickster have a recharge time on his teleportation? If I could keep him occupied -

My feet hit concrete as I was teleported, again. That was starting to get irritating. I took off once more, trying to get to the dragon before I was -

I skidded along a rooftop, displacing an AC unit, this time. The dragon was staring right at me, and I flinched back as I was shot, repeatedly. No muzzle flash accompanied the shots, and they were not as powerful as a bullet from gun, though they still were annoying. It had to be Ballistic, shooting change, nails, or something similar. How could I get away from-

In the air I beat my wings, as Trickster switched me out for the falling AC unit. Below me, Noelle was almost encased in ice, as Legend blasted the water spraying from a broken water hydrant onto her, and freezing it with additional lasers. Smart. Without leverage, she couldn't move. And I had to stop Trickster from-

And I was in the ice. I let out my fury in a wave of flame erupting from my mouth, burning the front off the giant ice cube. I stepped out, watching Noelle fall, before she was replaced by a water tank. How did his power work? He was switching out similar sizes and weights - not identical, but close enough. He didn't have a time limit, and was switching anything he saw-

Anything he saw. I took off, keeping below the dragon. It twisted, aiming its head at me, letting its passengers see me.

Or try to, as a cloud of shadows cloaked the dragons passengers, and likely flight path. It stopped, surprised. Even better.

"Legend!" I shouted, pointing at the mass of darkness. He might not have been able to see it, as it was night, but as I closed, my glow highlighted the dragon's temporary hiding spot. He had flown above, trying to get a better shot at Noelle, and cut loose, a quartet of lasers cutting through the darkness.

The dragon was in pieces as it fell, followed by Trickster, Sundancer, and Ballistic. The latter's left arm cleanly burned off at the shoulder. Trickster switched himself out with the broken hydrant, before trying to swap out his team. Sundancer landed nearby, exchanged for a now falling trash bin. He tried to get Ballistic. He would have, had he been able to see him. I covered him once more with shadows, and watched Ballistic fall.

A barked order, audible even up here, and Sundancer lit up, a pinprick of blinding light forming in front of her. As it expanded, it burnt away the shadows as if they had never existed. The entire street was lit as if it was day, allowing the remaining Travelers to see Ballistic land on his head, with sound like a potato being smashed by a wooden mallet.

A scream of rage came from Noelle, which I ignored, diving at the remaining two Travelers. And I ran straight into a forcefield, bouncing right off. A forcefield nearly identical to the one's Quintessence made, barring a different pattern. She was dead, and why was she helping Noelle?

I got my answer as I corrected my course, from heading into a building. A Quintessence, naked, was focusing, looking straight at me. I stopped, hovering in midair, as a forcefield appeared right where I would have been. Another Quintessence, this one wearing a twisted imitation of her costume, gestured at the buildings behind Noelle. They stretched, like they were being pushed from within, and then burst. Sending everything flying. Hundreds of tons - thousands of tons- of brick, concrete and steel flew into the air, heading away from us. And plenty of people, too. They completed their short journey, landing after a hundred foot drop.

Legend managed to grab three. I couldn't reach any of them in time. The rest broke skin, bones, or bodies. Cries of pain and panic sounded up, before they were silenced by another pulling, and another row of buildings, including the debris that had landed on them, were sent flying. I stopped flying, stunned.

Hundreds of people. Dead, just like that. Trickster switched himself out with a man trying to reach his crying daughter, and I saw him glance back at me. Or possibly Sundancer, or most likely Noelle, as she scuttled forward, grabbing bodies as she passed them. I dropped a wall of shadows, this time, blocking his view of Sundancer.

He was next, but none of them were getting out of this alive. I'd make sure of that.

I dove at Sundancer, twisting to dodge any blasts of sunfire. Her power had burnt through my shadows, and could probably cook me like a kiln. But she didn't fire anything at me, only falling to her knees to dodge. I landed behind her, and nearly flipped over in my haste to grab her. My clawed hand grabbed her head, and could I squeeze her? Killing her? Feeling her life ebb?

Yes.

"Do it," she whispered, sounding empty.

I stopped, shook out of my green-tinged rage. With a voice like crashing boulders, I snapped, turning her to face me, "What?"

"We said we would stop her. And we never did. Fucking do it!" she screamed, the beginnings of tears running down her face.

I dropped her, pissed beyond any measurement. I ground out, angry that this didn't have to happen, "Then fucking live with it! It's on your head!"

I took off, air from my haste blasting her back. I twisted over in the air, looking at her as I left. She had collapsed to her knees, silently crying. I had more important things to find, and more importantly, to kill. They were at fault for every death from that monster they brought with them - that I had let out by accident - and they would pay.

In the distance, I saw a skyscraper, easily twenty stories, shift, and collapse like a cut tree. It crashed into an adjoining building, knocking off its top. A massive cloud of dust blew out, coating the buildings below me. Were they trying to kill everyone in the city?

Legend was firing near constantly, right through the dust cloud. He must have known where they were, because he didn't waver in his targeting. I flew up to his position, high above the dust, and reported, "Done. Only them."

A blast of flames briefly illuminated the dust cloud, as another cape entered the scene. Legend kept firing, and ordered, "Get down there. We have to stop them."

I didn't argue, diving straight down even before he was finished. Noelle could clone people, and they had powers. Another building was destroyed, another skyscraper, this time shooting upwards like a sprinkler, chunks of building falling around in its spray. I saw a bed with a man in it, and grabbed it as it passed right by me. He screamed, louder, volume increasing as he saw my stone face. I flitted over, dropping him on a roof, watching him softly tumble across it.

Only one out of hundreds.

I pulled back up. I couldn't see through the dust cloud. It wasn't darkness, and I didn't have a power to use for seeing through the damn coating of concrete, dust, and ash. I almost made a loop, heading back to Legend. I shouted, and at my size it was a substantial shout, "We have to get her out of the city!"

In a blur of movement, he was two feet away from me. "Go down there, and find her. I'll blast her out, and we can deal with her. No more-"

Whatever he was about to say, he was interrupted by an explosion, blowing out glass across the city. I could see tiny little shards across the entire island, from the Park to the most southeastern tip. Every moment we spent up here meant more people dying.

I stumbled on my words in my haste to get them out: "Can't hurt her - get her in the water! Slower!"

Somehow, he understood me, nodding, and I didn't wait for an answer. Every second counted now. The dust nearby had somewhat cleared, only to be replaced with the dust from whatever had blown out half the windows in New York City. Visibility was down to nothing, at ground level, but I could see the faint glimmer of a forcefield. Her clone-capes were protecting her. I passed Volcano on the way down, a brief glance at him as he shot a blast of flame at something in the dust cloud. Heavy was punching a forcefield, with hits I could feel a hundred yards away. A human-shaped flamethrower, Jerry Can, was spraying a Quint-clone down, even as he was being twisted into shapes unseen out of beginning art class. I passed them all, and more - capes and cops fighting against mutated people, mutated capes, - looking for the source of the problem.

Noelle.

She wasn't too hard to find. She had several Quintessence clones with her, and more than a dozen more that I couldn't identify surrounded Trickster. I didn't engage her, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn't stop her.

I pulled out of my lazy dive, heading up. Legend saw me, and in less time than it took to blink, was next to me.

"Right below me," I said, grimly. It was time to end this. "I'll bring her up as far as I can."

He nodded, and added, "Thank you."

I plummeted, wings folded behind me. She wasn't moving, letting her clones doing the heavy lifting. Buildings were collapsing left and right, an indescribable cacophony. She hadn't moved. I grabbed her by the back of her neck, and pulled up. She was so much heavier than before. I tried to race up, carrying her up for Legend to shoot. But to no progress. We were rising slower than a hot-air balloon made of lead, and only Trickster's inability to see kept him from switching our positions.

I pushed harder, forcing my will on my body. It had to be faster, had to be better, had to be more. There wasn't any other option: every moment I dallied was another moment the clones had to destroy New York City.

I was faster. I pulled her up, her limbs trying to reach me. They failed.

I was better. I cleared the dust, and I could see Legend. She was done.

I was more. Whatever the hell she was, I was winning. No more deaths, save hers.

Legend saw me, and I let Noelle go. Before she had dropped a single foot, a blast of light shot her a hundred feet in the air. Another, and another, and Legend juggled her on concussive lasers, across Manhattan. Over at least a mile, he sent her flying hundreds of feet in the air, each time he stopped moving.

Over past the island I had crossed the other night, he turned to me, and said, "She's healing any damage we do to her. We need to do enough to put her down, permanently."

A nuclear weapon? A bomb? They were the only things I could think of that could completely annihilate her. Enough to burn her to ash, to stop her ridiculous regeneration. A moment later I thought of something better, in that it was actually available - an oil tanker. Long, longer than several football fields, with piping across its top, it could be nothing else. It was fleeing the harbor, trying to escape from whatever was in the city. A rational choice, but one that still gave me an option.

"Get them off the ship!" I yelled to Legend, even as I dived towards the ship. A quick succession of blasts sent Noelle even higher in the sky, before Legend sped down. He was incredibly fast. I followed, tearing off a very thick and heavy pipe that connected two of the bulges lining the ship. It would serve as a spear. Some sort of chemical sprayed out, but I ignored it, flapping my wings to bring me back up, even though I felt exhausted. But I only had to stop her, then I could rest. So close to victory.

Noelle was tumbling, trying to right herself, but unable to. I flew up, trying to get above her, before a beam blasted out of the blocky section on the back of the ship, knocking her higher again. Legend.

I flew higher, even as she bounced up and down, never letting Noelle leave my sight. When I was above her, Legend stopped firing. Smart man. I gripped the pipe like a lance, aiming at Noelle, diving. At a hundred feet from her, our speeds matched. Until Legend shot her straight up, nearly impaling her on the pole. The jagged edge, torn from the force I had ripped it off with, punched through her midriff.

She tried to grasp the pole, but didn't have enough time. Green flames licked along the pole, and I knew what I needed. I needed the flames to burn through anything, to get at the juicy center of the tanker. And shouldn't they? Shouldn't the flames that could burn flesh with unnatural ease burn metal as well? It was logical, and it felt right.

"Call me Ishmael," I snarled, plunging my impromptu spear, still with her stuck on it, into the middle tank as we reached the tanker. The metal around my impact point warped, green cracks expanding out in an ever growing circle. I shot past her, letting her take the force of the fall. Behind me, the flames stopped spreading, but glowed brighter, smoking. A circle, the size of a living room shattered, dropping a surprised Noelle into the elevated tank. She vanished, as a expanding cloud of white vapor spread out, rapidly, out and up. I had to get away, much farther away -

The world exploded.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I blinked, shaking off mental cobwebs. I was falling, head first, into the water. Which was on fire. I tried to pull out of my uncontrolled dive, but to no success. A glance at my wings showed the reason: They were ruined, great chunks of flesh missing. I needed to fix them, unless I wanted to hit the water at terminal velocity. I had half my outer pool ready. I had the power, but the question was, did I have the ability?

Yes. The feeling of bronze substituting for skin - I knew it well, from my injuries. The alien healing, flesh replaced with a material stronger than flesh. I spent the rest of my power, the bronze spider shimmering into existence above me, to fix my damaged flesh. Wings whole once more, I glided, rather than fell into the river.

I landed with a splash, fifty yards from shore. I swum, easily, even with my wings acting as an unintended anchor, and headed right for the sea wall at the tip of Manhattan.

I washed up against the wall, spitting out disgusting river water. A quick flap of my soaked wings had me on the street. I ached all over, had a variety of new injuries, and had let the entire world know that I was here. But I had destroyed something undoubtedly evil. I felt good. I had saved Daphne, and - Damn, she was still in that apartment! I had to go get -

A piercing wail broke my thoughts. I knew what it was. Everyone did. It was a warning to us all to take shelter, and for capes to assemble.

The Endbringer alarm.

CHAPTER 5: END.

A/N: A quick bit of formatting will be done, as I replace 1-4 with edited/polished versions. I'll make their interludes separate, letting you know when they've been replaced. But I'll do it with the posting of a new chapter, so there is no, 'Awww, I thought it was an update.' I hate that feeling


	7. Interlude 5

Interlude 5: Marissa

A blast of wind from Defiler's take off sent me reeling. I landed hard on my back and honestly barely felt it. Laying there, on the cold concrete sounded better than facing anything else. That Noelle was eating people, killing people, and destroying the city? That Trickster -no, Krouse - was gleefully following her? That… that Luke was dead?

What was I supposed to do?

Something huge - bigger than either Defiler or Noelle - collapsed with ear-shattering shrieks, crunches, and explosions. A cloud of dust blew forward, engulfing me. I coughed, lungs catching on the particulates. I sat up, to breath better.

And then after the ringing in my ears had faded a bit, I heard people. People crying, people begging, and people falling silent. People hurt by Noelle and her clones, by us. We had let this happen.

I had never wanted to be a villain. Never even wanted powers. Only the need to break through the cordon, and get home, had forced my hand. And Trickster - he was Trickster now, nothing left of Krouse - had kept us going along a path that we should never have taken. We should have just surrendered, staying in containment. Was this the Simurgh, acting through us? Or was this just our fault alone?

I stood, keeping my hand in front of my eyes, to block the blowing dust. I couldn't bring any of those people back.

But I could help. Across the street, I nearly stumbled on the curb. The dust was so thick, but I could hear a child crying, and I didn't want another death on my conscience. There were enough already. I stepped over broken bricks, and broken bodies. I leaned down, checking pulses. A woman's head was crushed underneath a fridge. A man had been pinned underneath a rafter, but had already died. A young girl, only a few years younger than me, was still. No pulse, either, her skin already going cold.

How many lives lost? Entire apartment buildings had been spread across a city block. I headed to the sound of crying, and nearly tripped over a young boy. His pajama-clad foot was stuck underneath a cast iron tub. Blood, barely visible in the low light, stained the bricks and wood below him. I gingerly stepped towards him, trying to not slip on the floor of loose bricks.

"Momma," he whimpered, clutching his leg, and futilely trying to pull it out from underneath the tub.

I gripped the two clawed tub-feet closest to him, and pulled. The tub shifted, and I leaned back, feet barely able to brace against the debris. I raised it, far enough to let him pull out his leg, and he crawled away. He must've been only seven, or so. I stepped over the tub, and picked him up, carefully holding him, keeping my hands away from his injured foot. I could feel a pair of wet spots forming on the cloth collar of my armor.

"Let's go find your mom," I said with false cheer. And he looked very much like the woman who was missing the top of her head from a refrigerator. He nodded into my neck, and I walked, very carefully, over the debris. I didn't want to trip and injure him further.

"What's your mom's name?" I asked, jostling him slightly, to keep him awake. I knew from limited experience that serious injuries could result in people going into shock. And with a smaller body, and smaller amount of blood, children would certainly fare worse in that regard.

He shook his head, before I heard a man shout, "Maxwell!"

The boy stirred, head leaving my shoulder to look up. Maxwell was his name then.

"Over here," I answered, as loud as I could. The sound of bricks hitting against bricks prefaced the man's arrival, and he hazily formed from the dust cloud, bricks scattering in his haste.

"Maxwell!" he rushed to me, arms extended. Maxwell tried to reach out, but I kept him from falling out my arms. His father made it to us, and then I handed him off, watching them hug. I left, leaving them to reunite, before they could discover their wife and mother was dead.

Men and women were pulling eachother out from underneath rubble, or patching each other up as best as they could with cloth, including the clothing off their backs. I left the ruins of the apartments, and headed to sounds of fighting - explosions and collapsing buildings.

I was going to do what should've been done long ago. That thing wasn't Noelle. It was a monster wearing her face, and we'd all promised that if it got bad, we'd stop it. And we never had, even when there had been clones of Cody spreading through Boston. People had died, because we had been too stupid, or self-absorbed, or whatever I didn't care - and now I had to make it right. As best I could. There would be no relief for my conscience.

I ran, legs pumping, into the center of the city. I passed between two clouds of dust, and was rewarded with a hazy vision of a skyscraper imitating a sprinkler. I couldn't see at this distance if those were people among the pieces flying through the air. But Defiler swooping down to grab something sure implied they were. A skyscraper of people, falling to their deaths. What was she doing?! What was the point to this?

A glimmer of light - white, not the green flying above - caught my eye. A Quintessence, face looking like half-cooked bacon, was sending trashcans and post boxes flying. Right at people cowering behind cars. A single cape, unidentifiable through the faint cloud of dust between us, was unable to hit her with his long spear without getting nailed the moment he broke cover.

The clone turned to face me, and then dismissed me as a threat. I was on her side, after all. Heat flared around me, melting the pavement. My power - one I had never wanted, even - was easy to activate, but hard to use. What use did a ball of fire, hotter than anything on or in the Earth, have but for destruction? And uncontrolled destruction at that. It was a muscle I didn't have, flexing, forming the ball in front of me.

It was too easy. Too easy to misuse, to hurt. But, for once, I could use it to a good end, even if it was the last time. The Quintessence clone didn't even realize her predicament until she had melted down to ash. And a circle around her had melted too.

Jouster, now identifiable as he closed, raised his spear in a salute. "Thank you. I couldn't get close to her."

I nodded, and replied, "Which way to Noelle?"

"Noelle?" he asked, puzzled.

"The thing making the clones. I -" my voice broke, at the thought that we had probably eclipsed the Simurgh, in terms damage done. Even when she had brought us here, entire housing districts weren't levelled. Fuck, we had probably eclipsed the number of deaths from the Slaughterhouse Nine by now.

"You know her?," he asked, stunned. He shook himself, asserting himself as Jouster, Captain of the Wards. "What are her weaknesses and powers?"

"She can consume any dead flesh, and if she absorbs a live person, she can clone them. And she's faster, stronger, and hardier than she looks," I answered, grimly. She would be stopped, either by me, or another. I couldn't break down. I couldn't think of Noelle as a teammate, as one of the last links to our world. She was a monster.

Jouster repeated my words into his phone, before listening to their reply. With a quick movement, he pointed his spear at my neck, crossing the yard of distance as fast as any athlete. He snarled, "And one of your teammates, Trickster, is helping her. Which makes me think she's with you."

"No," I whispered, "Not anymore. You can do what you want, later. But I'm going to help stop her."

His hand clenched around the shaft of his spear, tip nearly digging into the armor covering my chest. He pulled it back with a quick movement, glaring at me. "Fine. But if this is a trick, I'll kill you myself. Too many people have died tonight."

He motioned with the spear, and I followed him. He pulled a motorcycle up from the debris nearby, standing it upright. "Get on. They're moving through the Theater district."

I wrapped my arms around him, sitting on the pillion. Even before I could clasp my hand together to keep a firm grip, he peeled out, hand cranking the throttle. Dust flew into my face like a sandblaster, and I shut my eyes, tucking my head behind Jouster. Tears started to leak, both from the sand, and from the situation. Even having a tight hold on a spectacular specimen of the male gender wasn't a comfort. My nose started to run a bit from the tears and dust. We turned, and I leaned along with Jouster on the bike, heading down a new street.

I could hear fire, explosions, and screams not far off, even over the loud roar of the engine.

He gunned the bike, heading closer to the noise, before he disappeared, replaced with a clone of Technicolor. She was only identifiable by the riot of colors that was her skin, costume blending straight into her flesh. I was switched out, right next to Trickster.

"Marissa, Defiler just grabbed Noelle! I can't find her!" He pleaded, an odd note of desperation in his voice as a bunch of Quintessence clones scattered about around us. Was she all he cared about?

"Oh," I said.

He frowned, looking close at me. "Mariss-"

Heat flared, as I ignited my orb not two feet away from him. I didn't stop, letting it grow until it was the size of a car, before shooting it straight into the air. Everything around me in a radius of thirty yards was gone. Melted into nothing. The Clones and Trickster now nothing more than shadows on pavement.

"Sorry, Krouse," I whispered. It never should have happened like this. A wall of air shoved me aside, followed by a quick series of tremendous explosions. I got to my feet, shakily, even as glass sprinkling down from intact buildings replaced the now pushed aside dust.

A bright red glow, from the south, cast everything in its light, even as I could see a smaller green one fall away from it. The fireball, visible even from here, rose out of the harbor. It was taller than any building in the city, and kept growing. It twisted, curling in on itself, as it cooled off, turning into a mushroom shaped cloud.

I sat down, tired. Not physically, but mentally. I could only hope that had been Noelle being killed. And it wouldn't matter, if they had nuked her. I wasn't getting out of here alive. Not that I deserved to. Surrounded by a ring of ash, I waited for the end. And then the sirens started. Everything would end, as it had started. With the Simurgh.

I didn't spent long waiting, as about not even ten minutes in something came back into sight. That green light, after disappearing some minutes earlier, peaked up into the sky again, and started flying towards me. I waited, only mildly interested. I couldn't really bring myself to care, surrounded by a ruined city. By a mountain of corpses. By an evil I had helped nurture.

Defiler, in the shape of something straight out of Ransack, landed on the ground with a crunch. She looked at the lack of remains, leathery wings folding behind her..

"Trickster," she growled, voice like a gravel truck being dumped into human speech.

"Dead," I answered, voice hollow.

She looked at me, head tilting as she strode closer. Black hair fell around her face, framing eyes brimming with anger. And she lit up the entire area with a flickering, eerie green light. Her hospital gown, her only clothing, wavered in the stiff breeze from the fire in the harbor.

"How," she asked impatiently, snapping her question at me, more like.

"Me," I replied, quietly. "I couldn't let them keep killing people. I was so sor-"

I tried to work my jaw. What else could I say? 'I'm sorry?' That would sound so pretentiously trite. Even with just Defiler, we had taken millions of dollars to attack people who had to be her lackeys, The Shadow Cape and Damsel of Distress. She had responded, and Noelle had attacked her. Even to her, we had sinned, unforgivably. We had taken a huge risk, for nothing. For worse than nothing.

"You should've stopped her, earlier," Defiler said, sounding as tired as I felt.

"We should've," I agreed, strangely lucid. "We just kept ignoring things as they got worse and worse."

She fell silent, hand on her chin as she looked at me. "Let's go."

I stared at her, surprised. "What?"

"You want to make amends? Want to absolve yourself of all this," she said, waving her hands at the damage around us. A bronze spider above her head, taller than half the buildings, mirrored her actions, pointing at the same buildings.

"Then help me fight the Endbringer coming here. We've already lost, if we can't fight together. You've helped destroy New York - now help save it."

She extended her hand, to pull me up.

I took it.

Author Notes: Marissa stole the precious thing~


End file.
